When Opportunity Strikes
by HeartOfTheWild
Summary: A whodunnit murder mystery with Jean as both suspect and sleuth!
1. Chapter 1

When Opportunity strikes

Jean stood under the awning and looked inside the shop window and sighed. The glass was in want of a good clean and the items displayed needed a proper dusting. A yellowing sign in the window proclaimed, 'Volunteers needed'. There were three Opportunity shops in Ballarat, and this was the most downtrodden of the trio. She had helped at the Catholic Sacred Heart Mission shop for years, but last week when she turned up for her shift she was told in no uncertain terms that as she was no longer a member of the Church her services were no longer required. When she had returned home and told Lucien he had been livid.

'How dare they!' he had ranted. 'Those scheming, nasty, coven of gossiping bit…'

'Lucien!' interrupted Jean in shock.

He ran his hand over his hair and looked at her in chagrin. 'Sorry Love. But Jean, they have no right to treat you this way, after all your years of service…' Lucien was very aware how much Jean enjoyed her volunteer work. He knew that it was a large part of who she was. Her independent and philanthropic nature was one of the many things he loved about her.

Somehow seeing how upset Lucien was on her behalf had calmed Jean down somewhat. She had resolved then and there to not let this stop her from her volunteer commitments to the community.

'Well', she sighed back at Lucien, 'I am not going to give them the satisfaction. After all, there are other Op-shops in town that need help, aren't there?'

Lucien had held her close and whispered a 'Bravo, Jean. You show them!' into her ear, pausing for a quick nibble there at the same time.

But now, standing under this sagging awning looking into the dingy shop she was having second thoughts. Jean had investigated the other large charity shop run by the Salvation Army but had found the organisation there a little too strict and 'corporate'. It wasn't just run by volunteers but had employed staff directing operations. Jean knew the Salvos did some good work and always contributed to the Red Shield appeal, but she didn't think she would fit into the culture there somehow.

So here she stood outside the independent Bathurst Animal Charities Op-Shop wondering if she was making the right decision.

'Oh well,' she thought to herself, 'In for a penny, in for a pound.' Drew in a big breath and pushed open the front door.

'Ding! Ding!' A shop bell on the front door chimed out. Jean peered into the dimly lit shop. There did not seem to be anyone in evidence.

'Hello?' she called out. 'Shop? Anyone here?'

'Be right there, Luv' called a voice from the rear of the shop. A head popped out from behind a rack of men's suits. 'Won't be a sec', just tidying up the gent's here.' Jean could see the woman's hands flicking a clothes brush over the shoulders and straightening up the coats on their hangers.

'There. All neat and tidy again.' The woman declared. Then she gave a violent sneeze. 'AaaahCHOOO!'

'Bless You!' Responded Jean, and she watched as a very short, very round woman in her late 60's with short curly ice blue hair approached her, handkerchief pressed to her nose.

'Thank you, luv. Mind, the dust in here is chronic! If I had a blessing for every time I sneezed I'd be guaranteed a spot in heaven!' chuckled the round woman. 'How can I help you, luv? Looking for something in particular?'

'Oh, no! But I was wondering if maybe I could help you?' she waved diffidently to the window sign. 'You are looking for volunteers? I have had plenty of previous experience in an Op-Shop.' Suddenly Jean was a bit afraid that she would be turned down.

'Have you now?' the woman peered near sightedly at Jean. 'Bless me!' she cried, 'I know you! Jean Beazley, isn't it? Used to work for the old Doctor Blake, right?'

'It's Mrs. Blake now, I married the young Doctor Blake last March' replied Jean with a smile, 'But I'm sorry, I don't…'

'Right! Right. I did hear something about that now that I recollect. Congratulations! Of course, you don't remember me. It's been that long! Mavis. I'm Mavis Baxter. Me and Pat used to farm that block two down for your place years ago, before the war.' Mavis beamed at Jean.

Jean looked closely at the sweetly wrinkled round face trying to recall. Then she remembered, a much younger Mavis had given her 2 or 3 pullets to raise when she and Christopher had first moved to the farm. The gift had been gratefully received, but before Jean could form a real friendship with the woman, Mavis' husband had died of a stroke and the farm had been sold. Mavis had moved to town and Jean had lost contact with her, she had not thought of the woman since that time.

'Yes, yes! I remember! Chickens! You gave me some young hens when I was first married. They were good layers and a god-send.' Replied Jean gratefully.

'Auch, that's a long time past now. Lots of water under the bridge since then, I daresay!' responded Mavis with a smile. 'What brings you to my little shop? You want to volunteer you say? Last I heard you were in thick with the Sacred Heart group.' Mavis shot Jean a sharp look.

'Humph. Apparently, my services are no longer required.' Said Jean shortly.

Mavis pursed her lips. 'I see which way the wind lies. Well, I have had my run ins with those cats myself! And speaking of cats, you do know this charity shop is run in support of various animal aid societies? RSPCA, Lost Dog Home, Cat Rescue Service, Horse and Farm Animal support, that kind of thing. Its' not a people focused charity.'

Jean smiled. 'Seems there should be enough charity to go around to support our four-legged friends as well.' Mavis nodded in pleased agreement.

'So, you obviously have the experience, but tell me, what can you offer us? Not to put too fine a point on it, we need the help, but the help must be useful to us. We've had some come in who just want to 'help the pretty kitties', they last a week, don't lift a finger and then leave.' Mavis was a canny woman.

'Well,' mused Jean as she looked around the shop, 'the first thing I'd do is wash that front window! And dust the display. In fact, I'd change the display if I could, that one looks like it has been there since Adam was a lad. Then, I'd help straighten up the shop. Like you say, the dust is chronic.'

Mavis gave a hoot of laughter. 'Perfect! I've been wanting that done for ages. I'm a bit too broad in the beam these days to get into that window space, but you, you're still a little slip of a thing and can wriggle right in. But beware, our Hoover gave up the ghost last year and no one has donated a working replacement, so it's brooms, dusters, buckets and mops.' Mavis smiled at Jean. 'And how often would you be able to help? We've got a couple of volunteers rostered on for most the week, but Tuesdays' I'm on my own and I could sure use a hand.'

'Tuesday would be good. How about I bring my vac in for the day?' suggested Jean.

Mavis smiled. 'That would be grand! Fancy a cuppa tea, luv?' she asked. And at Jeans nod, lead her to the back of the shop into a private office alcove with a sign hung over the entry saying, 'Staff Only'. Further down the rear hallway Jean could see another room stacked with boxes and barrels of goods. The storeroom, she supposed.

'This is our little kingdom.' Declared Mavis. The little room was neat and tidy, a bank of filing cabinets against the far wall with precisely labelled drawers. There was a small desk with slots for letters and stationery that also held an old black rotary dial phone. Two desk chairs squeezed into the small space. In one corner next to a small sink was a tea trolley with electric kettle and jars containing instant coffee, teabags and sugar.

Suddenly Mavis gave a shout out to the rear storeroom. 'Ben! Benjamin Parker! Stir yerself and go get us some milk for our teas!' There was a mumble and grumble from the back room, then a slam of a door.

'That's Ben,' indicated Mavis. 'He's does all the collecting and pickups in his ute. He is also supposed to bring the milk in every day, but he always forgets. Nice bloke, but a bit slack on the uptake. Likes to sit out there in the storeroom and think.'

'Well, first perk of the job,' continued Mavis, 'is that you go out there to the shop and pick out a mug or teacup for yourself.' Jean returned to the shop and scanned the wall of shelves holding various crockery and glasses. She picked out a delicate china mug with roses, violets and forget-me-nots painted on to it, then returned to the office.

'Ha!' chortled Mavis. 'You've got a good eye, I see! That's Royal Albert. Bone china, it is. 1940 or so, one of the Chintz style mugs. Usually came in a set of 6, so this is a lonely one.' Mavis turned on the tap at the sink and proceeded to wash the mug. After drying it thoroughly with a tea towel that hung from a rail over the sink, Mavis then took a black marker pen from the desk and wrote JEAN on the bottom of the cup. 'Right, that's yours.

'It is pretty.' Commented Jean as she watched Mavis turn the kettle on.

'Yes, no real value though, not without the other 5. And some of the print has worn off, but pretty all the same. After a while you get to know about things like that.' Mavis looked at Jean, 'Well, pull up a chair and let's sort some things out.'

Just then they heard the squeal of the rear door opening and Ben shuffled into the office. Jean looked at Ben in surprize, he would be eighty if he was a day! Ben silently handed over the bottle of milk to Mavis who took it without comment except to say, 'Ben, this here is Jean. She'll be helping me out on Tuesdays.' Ben just grunted and shuffled off.

'Old Ben never has much to say for himself.' Observed Mavis.

The two ladies sat together with steaming cups of tea and filled out the appropriate forms for insurance purposes and discussed what Jean's role would be as a volunteer of the shop. Mavis talked Jean through the running of the shop, accounts, receiving and sorting of goods, arrangement for cleaning of clothes, how to price, when to call in an expert to value, how to display, how much and to whom the profits were allocated to and all the intricacies of running a second-hand shop. Jean grew more and more impressed with Mavis' business acumen.

As well, while they were talking the shop bell dinged several times and Mavis would help the shopper find what they needed. An elderly gentleman looking for a new cardigan, a young mother hoping for a dolly for her daughter, a pair of older women who nattered and chattered and tried on several things in the change room before leaving them on a heap on the floor and waltzing out without buying anything.

Mavis muttered under her breath about the two women as Jean helped to rehang the discarded clothing. 'Some people…'

Jean sighed. 'Those two! They have almost been banned from the Sacred Heart shop. I don't know why they do that, they never buy anything, just create a mess.'

'You get all types,' responded Mavis as they returned to the alcove office. 'I've seen them all. Some real down and outers who just need a hand and will pay the ticket price without complaint, to rich ones who try and haggle you down. Antique dealers and rag and bone men trying to put one over us. And the ones who just look and look and pick over everything hoping to find a lost treasure. Only treasure I ever found was a five-pound note in a coat pocket!' Both women laughed.

….

Over the next few months Jean slotted in nicely to the routine of the Animal Charities Op Shop. She soon found out that she was one of the younger volunteers in the shop. The other 4 or 5 ladies who helped on other days were well into their 60's and 70's and had found it difficult to do some of the heavier cleaning and maintenance, hence the dingy atmosphere when Jean had first viewed the place. She had great satisfaction cleaning the front window to a sparkling shine, hoovering and dusting out the place from top to bottom. Changing the light bulbs to a higher wattage also made a huge difference – no one had been game to climb the ladder and the shop owner would only put in cheap, dull bulbs. She made the front window display her own and every second week would rearrange and place new items in the window to attract customers. Jean also instituted a 'donation box' at the front door where people could, if they wanted to, drop in small items of dog or cat food to be distributed to the Lost Dogs' Home.

Jean found that she was enjoying her Tuesday's in the shop greatly. She and Mavis got on well together and enjoyed each other's company. Unlike the Sacred Heart shop, where for years she had only been assigned to folding, hanging or sorting clothes, Mavis expected Jean to take on every aspect of running the shop. Jean especially loved meeting and talking with the people who came into the shop, and the regular customers soon found that Jean had a very sympathetic ear. In fact, some customers made it a point to shop on Tuesdays just to see and speak with Jean. Even the laconic Ben eventually warmed up to her enough to wish her a 'Gidday' every morning.

So, Jean was very upset when the thefts began. Just little things at first, but always the items with a few pounds more value than most of the goods. Then clothing started to disappear. A Fox fur coat, a black evening dress, even a satin wedding dress! But most upsetting of all was that the thefts seemed to only occur on a Tuesday.

But theft wasn't the worst of if it. The worst was when Ben was murdered in the back room.


	2. Chapter 2

2\. When Opportunity Strikes

….  
Four weeks earlier  
….

Jean arrived in good time that Tuesday morning carrying a carefully wrapped bundle of warm cheese and savoury scones. She was doing the '10 till 3' shift. This meant she could have decent breakfast with Lucien and then be back in time to help him with his afternoon surgery hours. She didn't stop for lunch, just a quick cup of tea and a biscuit, but Mavis liked being able to take a full lunch break and would often step out for a half hour or so around 1 o'clock or so; after the lunch time 'rush'.

Mavis worked darn hard at the thrift store. The Board of the local animal shelter gave her a small stipend for her time and to keep the shop running. The shop was her love and life, and it also clothed and fed her. She received a small Aged Pension on top of the stipend which paid her rent, but Mavis was by no means well-to-do. Her single indulgence was a trip to the hair dressers once a week for the pensioners discount 'rinse, wash, set and dry' turning her snowy white hair into a mass of tight blue curls. So, Jean always took great delight in bringing the odd bit of something from her kitchen for Mavis to enjoy with her lunch. Ben enjoyed the treats as well, and Jean's baking was one of the few things that could coax him out of the back room.

It was busy all morning that Tuesday. In fact, since Jean's spruce up of the shop custom had taken a decidedly positive up turn. Housewives looking for a bargain, high school girls trying to make their pocket money go farther, veterans who preferred the thrift shop to the gleaming impersonal emporium on the main street, people who were lonely and just wanted to come in for a chat – all were welcome. Jean generally enjoyed most of the different 'sorts' that came and went on a regular basis, but there were a few that she would have preferred didn't keep coming back. There was Pat O'Brien, a metho drinker who needed a bath and change of clothes badly. He never caused any trouble really, he was an old friend of Ben's and they didn't feel they could turn him out, but after one of his visits they always needed to open the front and back doors for a while to let the place air out. Mr. Baker, the second-hand dealer was just a plain weasel and would try to haggle the already bargain prices to nothing. Mavis gave him no discounts and their battles were legendary. Of course, the two lady shoppers, dubbed 'Trash and Treasure' by Mavis returned on a regular basis to try on clothes and leave a mess in their wake.

Not long after 2pm, while Jean was helping a rather stout woman try on and choose a cardigan, Mavis called out, 'Jean, did you sell the pair of small crystal cut candle sticks?'

Jean looked up, pausing in her efforts to convince the customer to at least consider trying the size 18 not the 14, and replied, 'Why no, aren't they still on the shelf with the other glassware?'

'No, and I can't see the little cracked Dresden figurine either! I know it was there yesterday morning when I dusted' grumbled Mavis.

'Maybe one of the other volunteers sold them yesterday?' suggested Jean as she struggled to squeeze a round arm into a too small hole.

'Maybe.' Said Mavis dubiously.

But the items were never found, nor was there any record of their sale.

…  
Three weeks previously  
….

'Jean? I can't find that silver plated picture frame. I promised it to a customer, but it isn't here!' Mavis sounded annoyed and Jean came over to the shelf where the frame had rested earlier that day.

Jean frowned. 'It was certainly here this morning! I distinctly remember seeing it there, and I didn't sell it in the meantime.'

'Well this is a fine kettle of fish!' exclaimed Mavis. 'There was a good price on that. Honestly, people are just the end. Nicking from an op shop! Taking food from poor animals' mouths!' Mavis was not impressed.

Just then a customer walked into the shop and moved to the evening dress rack and the two could not continue the conversation. Jean walked over to the lady and asked if she needed any assistance.

'Yes, I was looking at a black 9 to 5 dress yesterday. I didn't have the money on me then, so I have come back today to get it, but I cannot find it here!' replied the woman.

Jean scanned the dress rack hopefully, but the dress was nowhere to be found. She glanced over to Mavis whose face was set and her mouth in a tight, grim line. Fortunately, Jean was able to find a suitable alternative among some of the newly donated items from the back room and the customer went away happy.

However, Mavis was not happy. But there was little they could do about it except resolve to keep a more vigilant watch on the shop in future.

…  
Two weeks ago,  
…

'What do you mean it's gone?' Mavis glared at Jean.

'Someone has walked off with it, is what I mean.' Jean shot back. 'I don't know who, but I turned my back for a minute and the fox fur evening jacket disappeared right off the mannequin!'

'Well, what were you doing girl? Why weren't you watching the shop!' Mavis looked at Jean suspiciously.

Jean wasn't having any of it. 'Mavis! There were 15 or 16 people in the shop. You had gone out to lunch and I was on my own. I cannot watch everyone at once!'

Mavis stomped to the rear of the shop. 'Why are these thefts only happening on Tuesdays on your shifts?'

Jean bristled. 'What are you implying Mavis?'

'We're being targeted Jean! Someone's out to get you and the shop is suffering. Well I'm not having it! We don't make enough profit as it is, we can't keep giving out five finger discounts!'

'Do you want me to leave?' asked Jean coldly.

Mavis looked at Jean in shock. 'Good lord no Jean! You've been a breath of fresh air here. I can't lose you! No, what I mean is that the both of us need to watch. Watch carefully, who's in the shop, who comes and goes, what they buy. I'm not taking a lunch break anymore, I can eat a sandwich on the counter, but I'm staying right here in the shop until we catch these thieving buggers!

…  
Last week  
….

'Well I give up.' Said Mavis in despair. Jean looked glumly at the 'specials' rack where the missing white satin wedding gown had hung. It had been a fairly simple garment, a plain 'A' line style, knee length with a small inset of lace at the bodice. Sometime between 11am and 2pm it had simply disappeared from the rack. Once again, the shop had become crowded around lunch hour and both women had been busy with customers. Both Mavis and Jean had watched the shop as carefully as possible, but the garment had been spirited away right under their noses.

'Mavis,' said Jean. 'I think we should report these thefts to the police.'

'And what are the police going to do about it? Think they'll care about a few second-hand items going missing from an Op-shop? I highly doubt they would think it was the crime of the century!' retorted Mavis.

'Well, I can at least tell a friend I know – he's pretty high up in the Police. And you know my husband Lucien has influence there as well!' Jean was worried. She had been enjoying her stint at the shop helping Mavis, but these thefts were putting it in jeopardy. If it was something to do with her being involved she knew she would have to leave and she really didn't want to.

'If you think it will do any good, you can try. But I wouldn't hold your breath.' Was Mavis' response.

Jean had marched to the rear office immediately, called Matthew and discussed the situation with him over the phone. But Mavis was right, Matthew couldn't really do much unless Jean or Mavis had caught the thief in the act. He was concerned to hear that it could be the result of a vendetta against Jean, but all he was able to offer was to have Sergeant Bill Hobart swing by on foot patrol once or twice a day to check in with them. Maybe the thief would notice the increased police presence and be frightened off.

'I guess that is better than nothing' grumbled Mavis. 'And that Bill Hobart would scare the spots off a Dalmatian, so maybe it will work.'

…  
Today  
…

Jean walked somewhat sadly to the shop. Last night Lucien and she had had a heart-to-heart talk about the situation, and they had both concluded that if there was another theft today that Jean would resign her volunteer position. If the thefts really were a result of her helping in the shop it would be better for her to leave. It made her sad, but it was the best decision.

She looked briefly into the shop window and smiled slightly. The windows did look good! 'Oh well', she thought, 'maybe someone else will come along…' She walked over and pushed the front door open.

'Ding-ding!' rang out the shop bell.

Jean looked around, but Mavis was not to be seen, the shop was empty of customers as well.

'Mavis?' she called out. Jean heard a low moan from the back of the shop. Concerned, Jean hurried to the rear office. There, stretched out on the floor lay Mavis. She had a nasty and bloody contusion on her forehead and had obviously been knocked out by a blow.

'Mavis!' Jean rushed forward and grasped Mavis' wrist, feeling for a pulse. You didn't work for a doctor for years without picking up a thing or two. Yes, the pulse was a bit thready but still strong. Jean darted back into the shop and returned with a throw pillow. Carefully she lifted Mavis' head and slipped the pillow beneath it. Feeling her scalp gently, Jean probed for damage. Mavis shifted and groaned, her eyes fluttering.

'Jean?' her voice was faint.

'Shhhhh. Lie still Mavis. You've hit your head. You may have concussion, don't move. I'm going to call for an ambulance.' Soothed Jean.

'Ben? Where's Ben?' worried Mavis fretfully.

'Ben?' asked Jean in surprise. 'I don't know…'

'Check… check him…' moaned Mavis.

Jean looked at Mavis with concern, but Mavis feebly waved a hand at her saying, 'Go… go check… I'll be fine… check on Ben…'

Rising, Jean turned and walked to the rear room of the shop. She had only needed to go into the storeroom on a few occasions. That was Ben's domain and he guarded it jealously. Each time she had entered the room previously he would not let her get much further than the doorway, stopping her with 'Whatcha' need girly?', whereupon she would make her request. 'Stay 'dere' Ben would instruct, then scrabble around in the dusty room until he located the items she needed, hand them to her and send her on her way.

Peering into the dimly lit room she looked around for Ben. Boxes and bundles of clothing, electrical gear, toys and bric-a-brac littered the room. She took a few more steps into the room and looked about. With a great gasp of shock, she spotted Ben in the far corner, crumpled into a heap. She didn't need to go check on him, she could see from the doorway that the back of his head had been crushed. Her hands flew to her mouth and Jean felt sick in her stomach at the sight of the gory mess Ben's head was in. Turning around she fled the room and ran back to the office. Ignoring Mavis' feeble queries from the floor, she picked up the phone, rang the police station and asked for Inspector Matthew Lawson in a shaky, but calm voice.

'Matthew? Please, it's Jean. Come quickly and bring Lucien. Mavis is hurt, she'll need Lucien and Ben… I'm pretty sure Ben is dead. He's been murdered!


	3. Chapter 3

When Opportunity Strikes 3

'Jean! Jean!' A panicked Lucien burst into the Op Shop, the door chime dinging crazily. He looked around the thrift shop frantically, searching for his wife.

'She's up the back Doc,' directed Sergeant Bill Hobart who was standing just inside the door and had been nearly bowled over by Lucien. Bill pointed to the rear of the shop as he regarded the Doctor with sympathy. 'She's okay, Doc, just a bit shook up.'

Lucien waved a nervous hand at Bill in acknowledgement and steamed to the rear office. He hesitated at the opening, looking in anxiously. Jean was kneeling by Mavis' side while Inspector Matthew Lawson observed. Both looked up when Lucien arrived, Jean giving him a shaky smile. Relieved to see that Jean had come to no harm he put his bag down on the desk and leaned in to attend to Mavis. Before starting his examination, he reached over and rested his hand on Jean's shoulder gently. 'Are you alright?' he asked her with concern.

Jean bit her lower lip slightly and replied, 'Fine, I'm fine, Lucien. But Mavis…?'

'Yes.' He acknowledged. Carefully he began to investigate the wound on Mavis' forehead, feeling and probing gently. Mavis moaned slightly, her eyes fluttering open.

'Mavis?' asked Lucien, 'Can you hear me? Can you see my finger?' He held up his index finger in front of her eyes

'Yes,' groaned the prostrate woman. 'All three of the them.' Lucien grimaced.

'Watch my finger please,' he instructed as he slowly moved it from left to right and back across her field of vision.

'Ohhhh, my head hurts,' complained Mavis.

'I'm not surprized! You have a serious concussion Mavis, we need to get you to hospital' replied Lucien.

'I've called for the ambos,' responded Matthew. 'The should be here shortly.''

'Hospital!' protested Mavis, 'I can't be going ta hospital! I've got the shop ta run!' She tried to lever herself upright and rise, but with a groan she collapsed back down. 'I don't feel so good Doc. I'm think I'm gunna' be sick,' she moaned. Quickly Lucien grabbed a near by waste basket and Jean held Mavis' head up while Mavis emptied her stomach into it.

Matthew turned slightly green. He heard the arrival of the ambulance officers at the front of the shop and gratefully turned to greet them.

'No argument Mavis,' said Lucien sternly. 'This could be quite serious. We need to take x-rays and make sure no permanent damage has been done. I need you to stay in hospital for at least 24 hours until we get the all clear.'

'Don't worry about the shop, Mavis. I'll take care of everything until you can come back.' Jean assured her.

'Ben! But what about Ben? Is he all right?' Mavis asked anxiously.

Lucien glanced at Jean who shook her head slightly. 'I'll see to Ben,' reassured Lucien. 'You just settle in at the hospital and I will be in later to run tests. Don't worry about anything. You need to rest.'

Matthew ushered the ambos in, and after consultation with Lucien proceeded to attend to Mavis, place her on a stretcher and take her out to the emergency vehicle. The three watched in silence as the ambulance left.

'Jean,' said Matthew. 'I will need a statement from you shortly. But would you please go wait in the shop and ask Bill to join us? Shut the shop up for the day, it's a crime scene. I doubt you will be able to reopen for a day or so.'

Jean nodded soberly in agreement and turned to do as requested. Lucien reached for her as she passed by and held her close for a moment, kissed her on her forehead then released her. Jean smiled wanly at Lucien and then returned to the shop floor, indicating to Bill that he was wanted in the back. She quietly turned the card on the front door from reading 'open' to 'closed' and sat down to wait on the footstool covered with wonky cross stitch that no one wanted to buy.

…

Lucien, Matthew and Bill made their way to the rear room that was used as a storage area. They halted at the doorway and looked in. Gloomy light filtered through dusty windows dimly illuminating the hodgepodge of boxes and goods strewn about. In the far corner they could see Ben's body. Matthew carefully stepped around a pile of clothing, reached up and pulled a hanging chain and turned on the single bare overhead bulb.

'Looks like there was a fight' commented Bill observing the overturned boxes and strewn about clothing.

'Or someone was looking for something,' mused Matthew. 'Bill, check to see if the back door has been locked, will you?' Bill strode off to check.

Matthew and Lucien picked their way through the jumble to Ben. Both men were careful not to disturb anything. Lucien squatted down next to Ben's crumpled body. From the amount of damage to the rear of his head it was obvious that he was dead, but Lucien felt his pulse just the same. Removing his thermometer from his breast pocket, he took Ben's temperature at the armpit.

'Hmmm,' he mused, consulted his watch and did a few mental calculations. 'He died around 8.30 – or 9am. Will confirm in the morgue.'

'Mavis opens the shop at 9, but they are always both here by 8 or 8.30,' piped in Jean from the doorway.

'Jean!' protested Matthew. 'I asked you to wait outside. You are a material witness, I can't have you interfering with the investigation!'

'Harrumph.' Snorted Jean, but she withdrew as Bill returned.

'Rear doors not locked. It was standing ajar….'stated Bill.

Jean's voice drifted in from the other room, 'We ALWAYS keep the rear door locked, bolted and closed!'

Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes at Lucien who just grinned back.

Lucien turned to investigate the body further. Carefully he observed and probed the wound on Bill's head, noting the shape and crush pattern. 'Your typical blunt object. Something heavy with a rounded or oval base. Swung and struck with considerable force from behind. I'd hazard he was dead before he hit the floor.'

'Well, there are hundreds of potential murder weapons in this room!' observed Matthew, looking around at all the different and varied bits of brick-a-bat.

'Boss?' Bill called from behind a stack of boxes. He had been carefully surveying the room while Lucien did his investigation. 'Might be this. There's blood.' Bill was pointing at the floor where lay a large, heavy wooden Tiki head with abalone shell eyes and an oval base with the words 'Souvenir of New Zealand' inscribed around it. The base was also covered in blood and hair.

Lucien rose and retraced his steps back to the doorway. Turning, he quietly strode in, pretended to pick up an object from a near by box, stepped forward and swung his arm down. Then he flung his arm to the side imitating throwing the imaginary object away, noting the arc of the flight. The object would have landed near where Bill was currently standing.

'The murderer crept in, picking up the Tiki he struck from behind. Damage is on the top rear right side of the skull, so he swung with his right hand, down and hard from above. Crushing the skull. Then he flung the Tiki away and it landed over there,' he gestured to where Bill was standing.

'Well, bring it in Bill. We'll see if we can get any prints from it, Charlie can try out that new kit head office sent up.' instructed Matthew. Bill looked around and found an old towel to carefully wrap the Tiki in.

'But did he attack Mavis first? If so, why didn't Ben come out to check on her? How was he hit from behind?' continued Matthew.

'Ben was pretty deaf!' called Jean. Jean's hearing was excellent, and she had inched her stool closer to the back to try and hear their conversation better.

Matthew sighed. 'Okay, so Ben may or may not have heard Mavis being attacked. The back door is open and not bolted, so either Ben let someone in, they followed him into the storeroom and attached him from behind then knocked out Mavis. Or, they attacked Mavis, killed Ben and escaped through the rear door, leaving it open.'

'Hmmm. We just don't know enough yet,' mused Lucien.

'Yes, let's lock down the scene. I want to interview Mavis as soon as possible and I need your report confirming cause of death, today.' Said Matthew.

'That shouldn't be any difficultly, it's pretty cut and dried I think. But Doctor Harvey can confirm that with me.' Replied Lucien.

'Ambulance is back!' called Jean.

'Right, Lucien, organise the ambos and sort it out at the morgue. I'll take Jean down to the station to get her statement. Bill, lock the shop up tight after we've left, and bring the Tiki down to the station.' Matthew ordered.

…

Jean's statement to the Police was brief and concise. All she could really tell them was the time she arrived, finding Mavis and Ben, and anything after that would be in Bill's report. Jean was home before mid-afternoon.

She hadn't wanted to say anything to Lucien or Matthew, but the attack on Mavis and murder of Ben had shaken her up more than she had expected. She had assured them both she was fine to come home, but now, her brain was churning. If she had been a few minutes earlier, why, who knows, she could have stopped it! Or been a victim herself. Who could have done such a terrible thing? And why? Was it connected to the thefts?

Jean found herself starting to shake with delayed shock. Very, very carefully she made herself a strong cup of tea. She didn't usually take sugar, but this time she put in two heaping teaspoonfuls into the teacup. Cradling the cup in her hands she moved to the sunroom where she sat down and slowly sipped the sickening sweet drink. Sitting in the filtered sunlight and drinking the hot tea Jean began to feel herself calm down and relax. In a more settled frame of mind she began to think over what had happened and try and sort out her thoughts.

Why Ben? What had that old gentleman ever done to deserve being killed like this? Had he surprised someone, or let his murderer in? Jean had heard most of the conversation between the men in the storeroom, (none of the them were particularly soft spoken) and she was intrigued. But a Tiki head? There hadn't been anything like that in the shop before, maybe it was part of a new donation. If the murderer was looking for something Jean resolved to herself to find out what it was. She would search the store room as soon as she could get the shop key back from Bill.

In the middle of these musing, Jean barely heard Lucien's car drive up. Catching herself, she smiled and went out to great him.

'Lucien!' Jean reached for him as he got out of the car. He took her in his arms and held her tightly. 'You're home early!'

'I was worried about you, love.' He murmured into her hair.

Jean leaned back and looked up into Lucien's eyes. 'I was shaken. More than I thought, but I'm fine now. Now you're here.' Lucien smiled down at her. 'But Lucien! You should be at the morgue. And what about Mavis, is she going to be okay?'

'It's alright Jeanie-love. Alice agreed to do the autopsy, so I could come home early. And Mavis is resting. The x-rays don't show any serious damage, but she will be woozy for a day or so. She's sleeping now but should wake up in a couple of hours. I thought maybe you would like to come down to the hospital and be there with me when she wakes?'

'Oh Lucien! I would love to. But won't Matthew get annoyed? He'll want to interview her,' responded Jean.

Lucien grinned down at her. 'I think the two of us can handle Matthew, eh?' and he chuckled. 'Visiting hours start at 7pm, what say we have a bite to eat then go see how she is.'

Jean laughed and agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

When Opportunity Strikes 4

…  
Later that evening  
…

Hand in hand Lucien and Jean walked up the corridor to the ward room where Mavis was resting. Lucien felt a little satisfied glow that he could now hold Jean's hand in public without fear of gossip or censure. In Jeans' other hand was a neatly wrapped parcel of her latest batch of cheese and bacon scones*. She reckoned that Mavis would enjoy them more than the food served here.

Jean wrinkled her nose a bit at the 'hospital' smell of disinfectant and illness, but to Lucien it was a normal, comforting scent. As they approached, they saw Matthew sitting on a chair just outside the room, apparently waiting for them. He noticed them both and stood up to greet them.

'Ah, Lucien. About time, she has just woken up. I'm waiting for the all-clear from that Tartar of a Head nurse.' Matthew looked at Jean, raised an eyebrow at her and continued, 'And good, you've brought Jean with you.'

Jean looked at Matthew in astonishment. 'You don't mind me being here?' she asked.

'Don't know if I could stop you.' He replied. 'And I think Mavis would be more comfortable answering questions with you here.'

'So, I take it you don't think I'm a suspect, then?' Jean shot back.

Matthew looked uncomfortable. 'Well, _technically_ speaking, you probably are. But the reality is that we both know you didn't do this, and I can't see you having any motive for doing so anyway!'

'I should think not!' huffed Lucien.

Jean patted Lucien's arm soothingly. 'Thank you, Matthew.' She appreciated his faith in her and that he was bending the rules a bit in her favour.

Just then the Head Nurse exited Mavis' room. She looked at Matthew with an air of disapproval, but her expression changed when she saw Lucien.

'Ah, Doctor Blake,' she cooed. 'Your patient has just woken up. She seems to be doing well apart from a headache. I assume you will prescribe the usual analgesic treatment?'

Lucien smiled tolerantly at the nurse. 'Most likely Nurse. I will just check her over now and give you orders before I go. I'd like to see if she is up for a bit of questioning by the Inspector here.' Lucien waved a hand in Matthews direction.

The nurse sniffed somewhat disdainfully. 'If you approve, I can't stop you. But mind you don't upset her too much with your questions Inspector! Not more than 15 minutes, You,' she stared pointedly at Matthew, 'I'll be watching!' With that the formidable woman turned on her heel and stomped off.

Jean raised an eyebrow at Matthew. 'You are not her favourite person, I gather?'

'We've had our run-ins in the past,' Matthew shrugged. He pushed open the room door and gestured for them to enter.

Mavis lay on the hospital bed; the adjustable bed back having been raised to a semi-upright position. She looked as pale as the white sheets, her forehead bandaged, swathed in a crepe bandage. Her blue rinsed hair stood out brightly on the white pillow case. Her bright blue eyes focused on her guests and she gave them a watery smile.

''Ello Luvies. Come to check up on me, eh?' she asked.

'Afraid so, Mavis.' Responded Lucien. 'How are you feeling?' He studied her chart at the foot of the bed.

'Like I was hit by a truck!' she exclaimed. 'My heads' thumping something fierce!'

'I'll get Nurse to bring you something for that soon. But we were wondering if you felt up to answering a few questions for the Inspector here, first,' asked Lucien.

'Aye. I can do that. Nurse said she'll be bringing me a cup of tea in bit, though.'

'It won't take long Mavis,' put in Jean, and she stepped up and gave the woman a quick kiss on the cheek. 'Plus, I've brought along a special treat to have with your tea if you feel up to it.'

She handed Mavis the parcel and Mavis took a quick peek inside the wrapping. 'Ooooh! Lovely! Ta' ever so much Jean dear.'

'Better hide them from Nurse, though,' suggested Lucien, taking the parcel from Mavis and tucking it into the drawer at the bedside table. 'She frowns on food that actually tastes good!' Mavis chuckled.

Jean pulled up a chair and sat next to the bedside, taking Mavis' hand in her own. 'Can you tell the Inspector what happened this morning? Can you remember?'

Mavis frowned in thought. 'I got to the shop around 8, I think. Ben was waiting for me at the door. Ben! Oh Ben! No one's said what's happened to Ben!' cried Mavis.

'I am very sorry Mavis,' said Matthew gently. 'Ben was attacked and killed in the back room. That's why we need to know anything you can tell us.'

'Ah me. The poor ol' bugger. Poor old Ben.' Grieved Mavis. Jean stroked Mavis' hand in comfort.

'Who would do such a terrible thing to an old man?' asked Mavis angrily.

'We don't know Mavis, that's what we need to find out. Did you hear or see anything?' responded Matthew.

'He were a war hero, did you know that Jean?' Mavis turned to Jean with tears in her eyes. 'He was in the Dardanelles and then in the Sinai. 3rd Light Horse Brigade! He never talked about it much.' Mavis shook her head. 'Poor old bugger. Never did the march. Thought he and his mates had been hard done by. Had three Walers shot from out under him. Said that's why he wanted to help in the shop, he sorrowed so about them horses. Wanted to help the ones living he said.'

'Does Ben have family, Mavis? Anyone we can contact?' asked Matthew.

'No,' said Mavis sadly. 'He had a wife once. And a kiddie. A daughter. But when he came back he couldn't settle. They left him, he never saw them again. Didn't know where they went. Ben was jumpy. Loud noises upset him. That's why he liked working in the quiet, in the back room by himself. No one to bother him. No noise.'

Lucien was pensive, shell shock from the sound of it. He knew about the campaigns in Gallipoli and in the Sinai deserts. They were blood baths and hell holes. Men who survived were changed by the experience, many never recovered.

'Someone knocked on the back door!' exclaimed Mavis in sudden recollection.

'When was that, Mavis?' asked Jean gently.

'Not long after we got there. I opened the front door and let Ben in. Then locked it behind me. Otherwise people just barge in even though it isn't opening time. I went into the office to check the accounts, and Ben went into the back room to sort through all that stuff that Kiwi bloke left us.' Mavis paused a bit, thinking. 'Maybe 15 minutes later I heard a knock at the back door. Ben went to answer it. I just thought it was poor old Pat come to cadge some coin off Ben again for beer and didn't think much of it.'

'Pat?' questioned Matthew.

'Pat O'Brien.' Replied Mavis. 'Sometimes he kips in the alley behind the shop. He and Ben were in the Brigade together. Poor Pat had got shot up bad and got on the grog when he came back. He smells a caution. But Ben never minded, always stood by Pat. Said they were mates.'

Matthew knew Pat O'Brien. Pat would drink anything he could get his hands on and wasn't found of bathing. Lately he had been known to be on the meth's, which meant he wasn't long for this world either. Pat was a regular visitor to the Ballarat jail. Mainly drunk and disorderly. He wasn't a mean drunk, generally, but Metho could cause aggressive behaviour. Matthew had often wondered where Pat had gotten the money for the drink and now he knew. Maybe Ben had stopped the supply of funds?

'And then?' prodded Jean gently.

'I… I don't really know. It's sort of fuzzy. I thought I heard a voice, maybe a thump. I got up to check, but… I don't know, I can't remember…' Mavis was beginning get distressed, tears running down her face.

Lucien looked down at Mavis with concern. 'Mavis, it is quite normal to have a bit of memory loss after a blow to the head. Please, don't let it upset you.'

'Shh, shhh,' soothed Jean. 'It's alright, you've done really well, shhhhh,' Jean stroked Mavis on the cheek.

'I THOUGHT SO!' exclaimed an angry voice. The Head Nurse stood in the doorway. 'I WON'T have you upsetting my patients!'

Lucien looked over at the Nurse and in his most placating voice said. 'It's quite all right Nurse. I am right here, and there is nothing going on that is out of order!'

The Head Nurse scowled at Lucien. 'This is MY ward, Doctor. You know that. What I say, goes. And I say, enough. This patient needs her rest and you are upsetting her.'

'Quite right. Quite right.' Said Lucien conciliatorily. 'Come Jean, it's time we go.'

Jean looked at the distressed Mavis and said, 'Don't worry Mavis, dear. It will be alright. I'll watch the shop for you and Inspector Lawson will catch this person. You'll see.'

Mavis looked at Lawson with a fierce gaze. 'You catch this rotten bugger, Inspector! You catch him good! My Ben deserved better. A war hero he was.'

Matthew nodded back.

…

As they left the ward, Matthew and Jean walked on ahead. Lucien stayed behind momentarily to prescribe some painkiller for Mavis.

Jean looked up at Matthew and asked. 'When can I go back to the shop, Matthew? There will be customers. And accounts. And the cash box to balance. And donations arriving that need to be dealt with. Not to mention cleaning up the mess in the back room!'

Matthew was considering, when Lucien strode up.

'Say Matthew,' he interrupted, 'I think I need to go back and look at the crime scene again! Maybe we missed something.'

Matthew threw up his hands in defeat. 'Right, right, you two! Lucien, you and Jean come around to the shop tomorrow at 10. I'll have Bill meet you there with the key. You search again and see if you find any new leads. Report to Bill. And Jean, you can do your accounts or whatever, but you can't open the shop until Bill has given you the all clear, agreed?'

Jean nodded her head in agreement and Lucien just grunted.

'Right, and when you do open again, I want Bill there. I want him to see who comes and goes, who are your regulars. I need names. I want him to interview as many of your regulars as possible. See if anyone held a grudge against Ben or noticed anything suspicious.'

'And what about Pat O'Brien?' asked Lucien

'He shouldn't be too hard to scare up. Charlie knows all his haunts, I'll get him to bring him in for an interview.'

'I'd like to be there for that,' asked Lucien.

Both Matthew and Jean looked at each other and grinned.

'Oh, you don't know what a treat you are in for, my son!' chuckled Matthew. Lucien looked at them both in bemusement while Jean just giggled.

…

 _*Just an aside… Jean's famous Cheese and Bacon scones…. (well, mine actually) … metric measurements used._

3 rashers lean bacon, rind removed and diced  
3 cups of self-rising flour  
80g of butter (not margarine!)  
100g of extra tasty cheese finely grated  
1 to 1 ¼ cups full cream milk  
2 to 3 tablespoons fresh chopped chives  
2 pinches of smoky paprika  
extra milk

Preheat oven to 200c, line a baking paper with baking paper

In non-stick frypan gently cook bacon for about 4 minutes until golden. Drain on a paper towel and let cool.

Sift the flour into a large bowl and add the cubed butter. With your fingertips, rub the butter into the flour until it looks like breadcrumbs. Add the cheese, chives, bacon and a pinch of paprika and mix well.

Make a well in the centre of the mix and add the milk. Mix with the back of a wooden spoon or a flat knife until it comes together and forms a soft dough. Add more milk as you go if needed. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and gently knead. Do not over knead, that makes the scones tough. Just knead until smooth.

Pat the dough down to about 2.5cm thick. Using a 5 cm cookie cutter, or the rim of a glass dusted with flour, cut approximately 16 rounds and place on the tray leaving at least 2 cm between. Brush the tops with mile and sprinkle with the second pinch of paprika.

Bake in oven 20 to 25 minutes until risen and golden brown and yummy.

Eat warm with lashings of butter, or cold with vegemite (or butter). Great with soup in winter! Also, can be split and toasted under the griller next day.

(if you are dieting, you can use low fat milk, low fat cheese, low fat margarine, but they are nowhere near as nice!)


	5. Chapter 5

When Opportunity Strikes 5

'Morning Doc, Mrs. B,' greeted Bill Hobart as he opened the door to the shop the next morning.

'Morning Bill,' responded Lucien. Jean smiled her greeting and the three stepped into the shop.

'You've had a few customers already, Mrs. B, asking when the shop is reopening.' Commented Bill. 'I let them know that you would most likely open tomorrow. They were quite helpful, didn't mind giving their names or details.' Bill tapped his breast pocket that held his police notebook. 'We'll check them out, but nothing suspicious so far.' Bill turned the key in the lock and made sure the sign on the door still read 'closed'.

Jean sighed slightly. 'I hope not. Most are just people looking for a bargain, pensioners eking out their money, people like that ...'

The three moved through the shop single file and gathered at the doorway of the store room. Lucien walked the few steps into the room and pulled the chain to turn on the ceiling light. They looked around at the disarray. Jean carefully avoided looking at the spot in the far corner of the room where Ben had met his end.

'I am going to have to sort this mess out before reopening ….' Hesitated Jean.

'Bill and I are going to do a search first. I want to examine the crime scene more carefully.' Replied Lucien. 'Jean, maybe you could explain how Ben worked? Then while Bill and I search you can go do the accounts for Mavis. We'll call you if we need to.' Lucien wanted to clear the area of bloody evidence before he let Jean work in the room.

'Hmmmm, well, Ben didn't really like anyone messing about in here. But he did explain once to me.' She waved a hand at a chalkboard propped against the wall behind an old roller drawer desk. 'That was Ben's desk. He would take note of all the deliveries to the shop and the pick-ups he did each day on that black board there. Then he would sort through the goods and check them. He would write it in his ledger, who it came from, what the item was, what could be resold, what needed to go to the tip, any possible value that needed an assessor to check. At the end of the day he gave the ledger to Mavis who would decide what happened next to the goods.'

'Where does the shop get the donations from?' asked Bill curiously.

'Oh, mostly people just drop the goods in personally. Or sometimes leave them at the front door after hours - which Mavis hates! As well people will ring up and as Ben to come pick up from them. Lots of elderly people do that, they find it difficult to carry bags and boxes down so Ben always helped them. He should have a record of each pick up he did.' Responded Jean.

'Mrs. B? I think you should go to the office while the Doc and I search.' Requested Bill.

'Yes, yes of course. I need to call the other volunteers and let them know what is happening with Mavis. See what sort of roster we can work out to cover for her until she returns,' and with that Jean turned and left the storeroom to Bill and Lucien.

The two men surveyed the room. Lucien walked over to the spot where Ben had been struck down and studied it carefully. Ben had fallen on a pile of discarded rags. Lucien could see that Ben had not bled a lot, but what blood there was had soaked into the torn cloth.

'Bill? Is there a box or trash bag around anywhere?' he asked Bill.

Bill looked about and found a stack of empty cartons in one corner and brought one over to Lucien.

Lucien gently sorted through the blood-soaked rags. He shook each one carefully before depositing them in the box. He had nearly reached the bottom of the pile of cloth, when there was a metallic 'ting' and something fell out of a rag and bounced on the linoleum flooring.

'What was that?' asked Lucien as he peered about the floor in the dim light.

'Here, this will help,' and Bill unclipped his torch from his service belt, turned it on and scanned the floor with its' bright beam.

'Wait! Right there!' exclaimed Lucien, and he reached forward and picked up a slender strip of metal. He turned it over in his hands

'What is it?' asked Bill curiously.

'It's an Award Bar. A Bar to the Military Medal. That's one of the highest awards given to non-commissioned personnel in the armed forces. This would have been clipped to the ribbon of the Military Medal.' Lucien considered soberly. 'Whoever this belonged to, was a brave man indeed. It shows he won this medal twice for bravery in conflict.'

Bill looked around the area, lifting the remaining rags and searching beneath them. 'Where is the Medal do you think? It doesn't appear to be anywhere here.'

Lucien pointed to the rear of the bar, 'No, the clip is broken. It has fallen off or been torn off the ribbon, the medal is gone.'

'How does this fit in with Ben's murder you think, Doc?' mused Bill.

'I don't know Bill. But it is curious. Maybe Ben was holding on to it when he was attacked, and it was torn off then. But someone won two Military Medals would have other medals. Campaign medals, Victory Medal and the sort. I am not sure how they fit in, but I think we should search around to see if we can find them.'

Bill and Lucien began a systematic search of the storeroom. Amongst the clothing strewn about they picked up a variety of brick-a-back and trinkets, many of which were souvenirs of New Zealand. An ash tray from an Auckland pub, a broken greenstone pendant, several small Maori style tiki carvings with paua shell eyes and details and finally, a selection of souvenir tea towels. It soon became apparent that apart from the toppled piles of clothing that most of the goods strewn about the room had probably come from one donation. Bill retrieved another empty carton and they put the items into it.

'I wonder who all this lot came from?' asked Bill.

Lucien walked over to Ben's desk and peered near sightedly at the black board. 'From Ben's notations here, he had 3 pick ups last week, and 5 bags delivered. We'll have to check his ledger to see if that Kiwi lot was a pick up or drop off.' He sat down at the desk and began to search through the pile of papers and old magazines collected there. 'I can't see any ledger here.'

'I'll go ask Jean if she has seen it.' And Bill left to do so.

While Lucien and Bill had been searching the store room Jean had been busy in the office. She had contacted all the volunteers and set up a new temporary shop roster to cover for Mavis until she returned. Jean had checked the cash box and balanced the accounts. She had been interrupted several times by people tapping on the window, wanting to enter the shop. Each time she had gotten up and simply mouthed to the people on the other side 'Tomorrow. We open tomorrow.' In the hopes that she was right, and Bill would agree. She was just returning from one of these encounters as Bill approached her and asked if she had seen Ben's ledger.

'Why yes, Bill, it is just here.' She picked it up from the filing slot on the office desk. 'Ben gave it to Mavis the afternoon… the afternoon before….'Jean found it difficult to go on.

Bill gave her a sympathetic nod and took the ledger and turned to return to the back room.

'Have you found anything, can I come in now?' she asked.

Glancing back over his should Bill replied, 'Should be okay now for you to come in. And yes, we found part of a military medal that is a bit suspicious.'

Jean was intrigued and followed Bill into the store room. While Bill was with Jean, Lucien had continued to search Ben's desk. Scrabbling around in the bottom drawer, in the very back under a stack of old envelopes he found a black leather case. He pulled it out and turned it over in his hands. Looking up, he saw Bill and Jean enter the room

'Bill, Jean, look at this.' They both came over and watched while, carefully, and with great respect, Lucien opened the case. Resting on a bank of medals was an Australian Imperial Forces Soldiers Pay Book and identity disc for Benjamin Parker. Lucien opened the pay book and read a few entries, Bill and Jean watching over his shoulder, Jean lightly resting her hand on his neck.

'He was a Sergeant, Bill. Earned the princely sum of 10/6 a day for facing the hell of enemy fire.' Lucien said grimly, putting aside the book and disc.

'Look at these,' said Jean, taking the box and fingering the medals reverentially.

'A DCM, British War Medal and a Victory Medal. Also, the Oak Leaves on the Victory Medal, which means a MiD, Mentioned in Dispatches. All in Ben's name. Mavis was right. He was a hero.' Said Lucien sombrely.

Bill gently took the case from Jean and studied it carefully. 'But looks like this has only ever held these medals,' he pointed out the crushed impression on the black velvet that corresponded to the trio resting there. 'I can't see any sign of an MM or Bar like you found.'

'You are right Bill, this bar,' Lucien held it out in his hand, 'came from someone else.'

Jean took the Bar from Lucien's hand and looked at it. She also recognised it as a Military Medal Bar. 'You know, Lucien, when I was so very hard up, after Christopher died and it looked like I was going to lose the farm…. I was offered good money to sell his medals.' She handed the Bar back to Lucien.

Lucien looked shocked. 'But I know you didn't!'

'Of course not! But I know of some war-widows who had to do so just to make ends meet. It is sad and tragic, but people need to live. Something like this,' she waved at the Bar in front of him, 'with the medal and others could be worth a substantial sum to a collector. Ben would have known how valuable these were.'

Lucien was thoughtful. 'We know this Bar didn't come from Ben's medals. But from whose? Maybe they were in that New Zealand donation bag – they were ANZACS and would have the same medals. Bill? Any clue in that ledger as to where that lot of Kiwi stuff came from?'

Bill rifled through the pages until he came to the last entries. He struggled to read Ben's cramped, old fashioned writing. 'Yes, there is one. Ben's had detailed the contents from 'Johnston' as 'clothes, rags, and NZ trinkets. I'd say that is our donator.'

'Well, if it was a pick-up, Mavis will also have an address recorded!' declared Jean with satisfaction. She turned and strode off to the office to find the relevant information.

'BRRRIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG!' The phone shrilled out as she searched for the record. Jean picked up the phone, listened to Matthew on the other end, smiled and hung up. Finding the address in Mavis' excellent filing system, she wrote it down and then returned to the storeroom.

'Lucien, that was Matthew,' she said as she handed the slip of paper to Bill. 'He says Charlie has brought in Pat and would you please come in as soon as possible for interview. He said it was quite urgent.' Jean cast a side-eye at Bill, who smirked a little back at her.

'Oh! Good. I think we are finished here anyway.' He picked up the box of bloody cloth and tucked it under one arm. 'Bill too?' Lucien wasn't happy about leaving Jean on her own in the shop.

'Oh no, not right away. Matthew said Bill should stay with me here in the shop until I have finished. But could you come back and get me when you are done? I am sure you won't be more than an hour or so.' Jean smiled at him innocently.

'Of course, dearest,' And with a kiss on her cheek he left, Bill following to see him out and lock up behind him.

When Bill returned, he had a smile on his face. 'He hasn't met Pat before?' he chuckled.

Jean giggled. 'No. He hasn't a clue.'

Bill grinned back at her. 'You really are a little bit wicked, aren't you Mrs. B?'

Jean laughed, and then looking around the store room she spotted a large, standing mirror in one corner and had an idea.

'Say Bill, can you help me move that mirror into the front of the shop?'

Bill turned and looked where she was indicating. 'Sure, but I don't think you could sell it in that condition.' It was an old-fashioned swivel standing mirror with a wooden surround, the top finials missing. The mirror was incredibly dusty, had a slight crack at the bottom and the slivering was flaking away in spots.

'I don't want to sell it, I have another idea for it.'

With Bill's assistance they moved the old mirror into the front shop. Jean gave it a bit of a dust and polish, and then with Bill's help moved it into the corner of the shop diagonally opposite the front counter where she usually stood.

'Right Bill, just stay there next to the mirror,' and she darted around the counter. 'Now, move it back a bit… a bit more. Now angle it to the right… no, Bill, my right… oh, good. Great! Come have a look at this.'

Bill joined her behind the counter, looked across the shop where he saw the mirror had been carefully angled to reveal all the corners and shelves that were hidden from the front counter view by racks of clothes.

'Clever, very clever!' proclaimed Bill.

Jean walked over to the mirror, stuck a 'not for sale' sticker on it, and dressed it up a bit by hanging a hat on the top corner to hide the missing finial, and draping a scarf on the other side to hide one missing from the opposite side.

'I hope so!' declared Jean. 'Most of the items that have gone missing have been from that side of the shop. Maybe this will help catch the thief.'

'Now,' she declared, 'I am going to get this place back into some sort of order, so I can tell Mavis tonight that we reopen tomorrow!'

'Tomorrow it is Mrs. B!' agreed Bill

…

Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM)  
Established 1854. Awarded to non-commissioned officers and other ranks of the Army for "distinguished conduct in action in the field."

Mentioned in Despatches (MiD)  
Not a decoration in itself, an "MiD" was commendable action which rated a "mention" in a Commander-in-Chief's military despatch. A certificate was awarded, and an emblem of bronze oak leaves was worn on the ribbon of the Victory Medal.

Victory Medal (VM)  
The Inter-Allied Victory Medal was instituted in March 1919.  
Awarded to those who had served in the armed forces, to civilians contracted to the armed services and to those who served in military hospitals on battlefronts during wartime.

The Military Medal (MM) was a military decoration awarded to personnel of the British Army and other services, and formerly also to personnel of other Commonwealth countries, below commissioned rank, for bravery in battle on MM ranked below the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM), which was also awarded to non-commissioned members of the Army.


	6. Chapter 6

When Opportunity strikes 6

Lucien strode into the police station briskly. His steps slowed slightly as he sniffed a slight taint in the air. The scent niggled at him and Lucien felt uncomfortable memories stirring and demanding attention. Ignoring this odd discomfort, he continued through the station, casting a curious eye at the young constable on the front desk holding a handkerchief to his nose.

Matthew was at his desk looking grim. The smell was stronger in here and Lucien wrinkled his nose.

'What is that? Has the station got plumbing issues?' he inquired.

'What we have is Pat O'Brien.' Said Matthew. 'What you smell is Pat. He has personal hygiene issues.'

'Oh?' Lucien really had nothing further to say on this.

'The man smells like a walking sewerage farm.' Responded Matthew with annoyance. 'Charlie found him up in the Gardens kipping under a rhododendron. Somehow, he got his hands on some sweet sherry and had polished it off before 10am this morning. I'm sorry Lucien, Charlie didn't realise how drunk he was, Pat can hide it well. Now the man has passed out in the cells. We can't interview him until he wakes, but I need you to check on him for me.'

Matthew handed Lucien a jar of Eucalyptus ointment. 'You'll need this.'

Lucien took the jar without comment, opened the lid and then spread some of the strong-smelling ointment under his nose. He and Matthew then proceeded down to the cells.

'I'm just glad that we don't have anyone else banged up at the moment,' comment Matthew. 'Last time Pat was in we nearly had a riot on our hands from the other prisoners. He's in the end cell, that's the furthest from the office upstairs and the only one with an air vent.'

Lucien walked to the end of the cell block. As he got closer to the cell the stench became much stronger. He arrived at the cell and the full blast of Pat hit him, bringing to Lucien a wave of memories that threatened to undo him. Lucien grabbed the wall with a shaking hand and felt his knees go weak. The smell brought back visions of starving, unwashed men, sick and ill; overflowing latrines, dysentery, disease and tropical rot of the horrific conditions of the Ban Pong POW camp.

'Lucien!' Matthew looked at Lucien with concern and reached out to him.

Lucien took in a shuddering breath through his mouth, straightened up and tried to regain his composure. 'Bloody Hell, Matthew. Look at the state of him.'

Pat lay on the narrow cot snoring loudly. Pat was a small, skinny man, well into his late 70's but looking much older. His grey hair was long, lank, thin oily straps across a pink and peeling scalp. Pat's face was a pasty grey, where it wasn't contrasted by purple broken rosacea veins across his cheeks and nose. Dressed in layers of greasy, filthy off-cast clothes, broken souled boots on his feet, Pat was a tragic vision of a wreck of a man.

'I'm more worried about the smell of him,' muttered Matthew. Lucien glanced at Matthew and gestured for him to open the cell. Approaching the prone man and trying not to breathe through his nose, Lucien leaned over and observed him. Reaching out, he grasped a shoulder and firmly pulled Pat onto his side.

'You need to keep an eye on him Matthew. Keep him on his side. He's out cold. If he vomits while lying on his back, he could choke and kill himself. He's in terrible shape. This man should be in a hospital!'

'They refuse to take him.' Matthew told him. 'We've tried in the past, but they won't have it.'

'He has no family?' asked Lucien.

'None that will have him anywhere near them. The only one who ever had time for him was Ben at the Op-shop. They were in the Service together. I don't know what Pat will do without him.' Matthew looked serious. 'Ben kept Pat from being a nuisance, fed him when he would eat. He tried to get him to apply for an RSL accommodation but Pat likes living rough. Says it's a doddle, no rent to pay, no one to make him bathe, no one to complain about his drinking. So, Ben let Pat kip under the back steps of the shops when he needed to.'

Lucien turned and left the cell then followed Matthew upstairs, pausing at the Men's room to wash his hands thoroughly. Once back in the office he observed to Matthew, 'Just looking at the man I doubt he is our murderer. It would have taken a strong blow to crush Ben's skull like that. I wouldn't think Pat has the strength or ability to do it.'

'Looking at him I'd generally agree with you,' commented Matthew, 'but you don't know what these men are capable of when they are on the drink. And if he was doing Metho, he could have become very aggressive and violent.'

'But to his mate? He would have had to be pretty far gone in drink to attack Ben, I think.' Lucien shook his head in dismay. 'We should do better by our Diggers.' He turned to go. 'Just keep an eye on him. I'm going to go pick up Jean and get back to surgery. I have patients this afternoon. Call me when he wakes, and I'll come right down.'

…..

Back at the Op-Shop, Jean had used her time well, the shop was tidy and ready for the next day's reopening. Between the two of them they had straightened up the store room, Bill had decided to take advantage of Jean's keen curiosity and let her help him. They did not find any further evidence in the store room to assist the case, but Bill had been impressed with Jean's efficiency and industry.

Several times during the clean up they had heard a tapping on the glass front door and Bill had dealt with the customer's, taking names and addresses and asking if they had any information to help. Most of the customers were understanding and although none had any real information they were all happy to help. Mavis and her little shop had a firm following in the local community.

However, Mr. Baker, the second-hand dealer was less than polite when he had rapped loudly on the window demanding he be let in.

'I am sorry sir,' Bill had told him dourly through a partially opened front door, 'the shop is closed until tomorrow. Your name please? And address?'

'Why should I tell you a damn thing?' Baker had huffed in indignation. 'Where's Mavis? She told me she had things she wanted me to value!'

'Mavis is currently in hospital. Your name please?' insisted Bill.

'Ask her!' he pointed to Jean inside the shop, turned on his heel and stomped off.

Bill thoughtfully closed the door and turned to Jean. 'Mr. Baker,' she replied to his unspoke query. 'He owns a second-hand dealership over in Maldon. Claims to be an antique dealer, but really is just a glorified junk collector.'

'Seems very keen to see Mavis about something.' Bill mused.

'Oh, he is always trying it on,' Jean replied.

It wasn't long after when there was a much gentler tap on the window and Jean looked up to see Lucien smiling in at her. She opened the door for him, and he took her in his arms and gave her an affectionate hug and quick kiss. Bill looked away discreetly, slightly envious of their happiness.

'All right Jean?' he asked her.

'Fine, Lucien. And how about you? How did your interview go with Pat?'

Lucien shook his head a her with mock indignation. 'You could have warned me!' There was no way he would ever let on to Jean that meeting Pat had raised such disturbing memories.

But Jean wasn't fooled. She had read something in his voice that didn't ring true. She cocked her head and looked up at him, 'Lucien?' she asked with concern in his voice.

'Ah Jeanie-love, he is such a sad case.' He shook his head and continued, 'He was too drunk to talk to, I'll have to go back later when he sobers up a bit and wakes up. But the stench of the man!'

'You mean he is still at the station house?' asked Bill in dismay.

Lucien looked over at Bill, his face was a study. 'Punishment for your sins Bill. Pat's going to be there awhile.'

Bill gave a sigh. 'Well, we are all finished here anyway.' He picked up the box of New Zealand donations. 'I'll head back then. I've got a report to write and evidence to log.' He handed the shop key to Jean. 'You open at 9 tomorrow morning? The Boss wants me to be here to watch and interview customers' he asked her.

'Yes, I'll be here. See you then Bill.' Jean put her hand on his arm, smiled up at him and said, 'Thanks Bill.'

Bill's ears turned pink at the tips, but without change of expression, he just said 'Righty-oh,' and exited the shop.

Jean watched him leave and shook her head slightly. 'He's a strange one.' She commented to Lucien.

'Bill? He can be. But underneath all that stoic act I think their beats a compassionate heart.' Replied Lucien. Then, after helping Jean lock the up shop tight, they both turned and left as well.

…..

Back at the house he and Jean only had time for a quick cuppa before the afternoon's patients began to arrive. It was a full afternoon of visits and Lucien's thoughts were full of his patients needs and complaints. He was just with his last patient when he heard the phone ring and Jean's muffled voice answering it.

Writing out a script for Mrs. Phillips, he looked up as Jean knocked softly on the surgery door.

'Doctor?' Jean poked her head around the door, 'Sorry to interrupt Mrs. Phillips, but Matthew needs to see you when you are finished' and she quietly shut the door.

Lucien nodded to Mrs. Phillips, gave her final instructions and then saw her to the door. He turned to see Jean waiting for him in the hallway. 'Pat?' he asked.

'Yes,' responded Jean. She hesitated a moment. She didn't know what had upset Lucien, but she knew it had something to do with Pat. She moved to him and gently put her hand on his arm. 'Will you be alright Lucien?'

Lucien ran his free hand through his hair, rumpling it up. Then he leaned over and kissed his wife on her forehead. 'The smell Jean. He smells like Ban Pong.'

Jean gasped slightly. 'Oh Lucien! I didn't realise…' suddenly she felt guilt stricken for the amusement she had felt at the thought of him meeting Pat for the first time.

'I'm okay Jean. I know what to expect now. It was just the smell… 'he paused. Jean put her arms around Lucien and he drew her close. 'I think our memories are tied to smells, they can evoke good times and bad times.' He inhaled the scent of Jean deeply, shampoo, the lavender perfume she liked, something like baking bread and the essential 'Jean' smell. 'For instance, you Jeanie, you smell of everything wonderful in my life.' He kissed her, and Jean ran her hand over his cheek lovingly. Lucien gave a shuddering breath, held her close, then stepped back, holding both her shoulders he looked down at her. 'When I get back, would you like to go visit Mavis?'

'That'd be lovely!' agreed Jean.

'I'd better be off then.' Lucien returned to his office while Jean watched him closely. She was still concerned about him but knew he would not stop until he had solved the puzzle, and not worry about the personal cost to himself. She could only support and be there for him when he needed her. As always.

Lucien put on his coat and grabbed his hat, then he paused in thought. Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out his silver hip flask. He shook it and realised it was full. Unscrewing its' cap, he walked over to his desk and pulled out the bottle of whiskey he had stashed in the bottom drawer. Carefully he decanted over half of the contents of the flask back into the bottle.

'Lucien? What on earth are you doing?' asked Jean from the doorway.

Lucien looked up at Jean and smiled a bit sadly. 'Pat will be in a bad way. He's an alcoholic, Jean, coming down from a major bender. He could well have Delirium Tremens. He'll certainly have the shakes. It's not best medical practice, but he'll need a drink. But I don't want to give him more than enough to calm him down.'

Jean nodded in understanding. 'Plus' Lucien continued with a wry grin, 'I don't want to give him all my best whiskey!' Slipping the flask back into his coat pocket, he gave Jean a quick peck on the check and left for the Station.

…..


	7. Chapter 7

When Opportunity Strikes 7

…...  
Earlier that afternoon  
…

Sergeant Charlie Davies consulted the scrap of paper with the address he had been given by Bill Hobart. Number 212 Dawson Street. He found himself at a small weatherboard, run-down working man's cottage on the west side of Ballarat; Charlie was following up on the address supplied for the bag of donations that had contained the various New Zealand trinkets. Looking up he noticed the dingy net curtains hanging in the front window twitch slightly. He was being watched.

'Good' he thought to himself, 'Not a wasted trip. Somebody home.' With that thought he mounted the front porch and briskly knocked on the front door and waited.

And waited.

So, Charlie knocked again. Louder. Glancing to the side he saw the curtains twitch slightly again, so he called out, 'Hello?' he consulted the paper again, 'Mrs. Chapman?'

He heard the rumble of a deep male voice and the answering tremor of a woman. He couldn't hear what they were saying, so he knocked yet again, with another, 'Hello? This is Sergeant Davis, I need to speak with the Chapmans.'

Suddenly the front door swung open violently. A rough looking middle-aged man in singlet and shorts glared down at Charlie and growled, 'Whacha' want, copper?'

Charlie looked at the man impassively and responded, 'Are you Mr. Chapman?'

'Yasss. What's it ta' ya'', Chapman sneered back.

'Just making a few inquiries. Can you tell me if you or anyone in your household donated goods to the Animal Charities Welfare Opportunity Shop recently?'

The man looked at Charlie angrily. 'Ya' wasting my time about a lot of old junk the wife chucked out? Ain't against the law is it, copper?'

'No sir, certainly not, but you could help our inquiries. Can you could detail the items you donated?

'Bloody Hell! It were just a load of old crap of me Dad's she chucked. Tiki's and shit from his Noo Zealand holiday. The old farts dead and I don't need any of his junk, it's all going to the tip. Now piss orf!' With that, Chapman slammed the door in Charlies face.

Charlie blinked in surprise. From inside the house he heard sounds of Chapman yelling something at his wife, her querulous response and then a sharp slap. Charlie considered, but there wasn't a lot he could do. He made a note in his book, then turned to go.

…  
Later, at the Station House  
…

Lucien paused outside the Station for a moment to compose himself and breathe in the fresh air. He wasn't looking forward to this interview, but at least he had time to prepare himself mentally for it. Giving himself a bit of a shake, he strode in.

Matthew was at his desk, reading Charlies' report from the Chapman's house. Charlie had also dusted the murder weapon for prints and sent the results to the Melbourne Lab. Glancing up he saw Lucien arrive and waved to him to sit down with a, 'Good, you're here.'

Lucien sat and waited patiently for Matthew to finish. Matthew finished reading the report and looked at Lucien. 'Well, the bag of donations seems to have come from the Chapman family. Charlie said the man was fairly belligerent and didn't want to question him too closely while on his own. But he did get Chapman to admit that his wife had donated the goods. Apparently, it was souvenirs of New Zealand of his deceased father and they are getting rid of his things. Op shop or the tip.'

'Sad that,' mused Lucien, 'A man's life on the rubbish tip or sold for junk.'

'Now don't get all maudlin on me,' warned Matthew. Looking at Lucien intently he asked, 'Ready to interview Pat with me now?' Matthew wasn't sure what had upset Lucien earlier, but he had known the man long enough now to be sensitive to his moods and whims.

'Fine Matthew. Don't worry.' Lucien looked at Matthew and reassured him. 'Pat just brought back some bad memories for me, I'll be fine, now.'

Matthew grunted. He didn't need to know more, just that Lucien would do his job. He silently passed the jar of eucalyptus ointment to him. 'Right. Well, we're are going to interview him in his cell. I don't want to have to fumigate the interview room as well as cell 3 after he's gone!'

Mentally prepared this time, Lucien was able to enter the cell and appear impassive to Pat's perfume. He could control his feeling of panic and view Pat with a degree of compassion.

Matthew pulled a couple of wooden station chairs into the cell and he and Lucien sat down and looked at Pat. Pat was sitting up on the end of the cot looking grey and sick. Lucien considered the man, he had skirted the edge of alcoholism for years now and had a good idea what Pat was feeling. Pat gazed at the two men blearily.

'How's it going then, Pat?' asked Matthew.

'Doan feel so good Boss.' Replied Pat miserably.

'I'm not surprised Pat, you know the sweet stuff always leaves you feeling sick,' responded Matthew. 'Charlie will bring you down a nice hot cup of tea soon, that will help.'

Pat moaned slightly. 'Doan need tea. Need a drink.' Protested Pat. He lifted his hands up to show how he was shaking. 'Got's the shakes, boss.'

Lucien looked over at Matthew and tapped his jacket pocket. Matthew raised an eyebrow at him, he well knew what Lucien kept in that pocket. He considered, then nodded. He turned to Pat and said, 'Pat, this here is Dr. Blake.' Pat turned and looked at Lucien considering him for the first time. 'We need to ask you a few questions and he's here to help you.'

Charlie appeared at the cell door with a mug of tea in his hands. 'Hot and sweet, as you like it Pat,' he commented.

'I'll take that,' said Lucien and rising, took the mug from Charlies hands. Placing the mug carefully on his seat he reached into his pocket and pulled out the hip flask. Pat's eyes lit up as he watched Lucien unscrew the flask and pour a dram of whiskey into the hot tea. He picked up the mug and handed it to Pat.

Pat gratefully took the mug in his two shaking hands and then took a deep drink. He gave a soft sigh of appreciation. 'You're my sort of Doc!' he declared. He closed his eyes and tipped the mug up, drinking it down hot, in one gulp. He held the empty mug out to Lucien hopefully.

Lucien shook his head at Pat. 'Maybe later, Pat. First, the Inspector and I want to ask you a few questions about Ben Parker.'

'Huh? Whassat about Ben? He don't do nothing bad, ever!' declared Pat. Lucien glanced at Matthew.

Carefully, Matthew said, 'Pat, Ben was killed yesterday morning. Struck down in the shop.'

Pat looked at Matthew in shock. '…no…no…' He shook his head mournfully. 'Not Ben… no…'

'Pat, we need to know where you've been in the past 48 hours or so.' Asked Matthew

Pat looked at Matthew in incomprehension. 'Where I been?' he continued to shake his head. 'Where I been? Here, dere, I gets about. I dunno. Here n' dere.'

Pat continued to try and come to terms with Ben's death. He turned to the men and asked angrily, 'Wha' you coppers doin' about it? Ben was me mate! A real cobber. Ben was goan look afta me.' He sorrowed and fat tears rolled down his cheeks. The looking up at Matthew he said, 'We was goin' on a trip. Trip to the seaside. To St. Kilda. Me and me mate Ben.'

'To St. Kilda?' asked Lucien curiously. 'Why the seaside, Pat?'

'Ta' have a bath.' Said Pat simply. Lucien blinked in surprise.

'But, you could have a bath here in town, at the Y, or the Salvos… or even Lake Wendouree.'

Ben shuddered. 'No. Can't. Can't have no bath inside. CAN'T. Doan like baths. Doan like showers. Coppers won't let me swim in the lake no more. The ocean is best. T'aint bathin' when you swim in t'ocean. An' they got this big fenced in bit o' ocean in St. Kilda to keep out the sharks n' jellies.'

Lucien considered Pat with interest. He was no psychologist but had read enough to believe that Ben suffered from a form of Ablutophobia, a fear of bathing. Usually it just a passing phase in small children and they soon grew out of it, but something had triggered this in Ben, some trauma he had experienced in the trenches perhaps?

'How were you going to get to the seaside?' Lucien didn't think Ben would be allowed on a train or any other public transport.

'Sheep truck.' Informed Pat. 'Ben and me were goan ride in the back with t'lambs t' Melbourne.'

Lucien sat back and looked at Matthew in confusion. Matthew shook his head disbelievingly.

'Why were you going to have a bath, Pat?' Matthew asked. After all, Ben apparently hadn't bothered with one for years, why now?'

Pat looked serious. 'The drinks killin' me. Ben said. I know. Doan wanna' die yet. So, Ben was gonna put me on the Cure. In the RSL. He had a plan to get the dosh. He was gonna get me a room with a pretty nurse to bring me cuppas and smiles.' Ben had a dreamy look on his face. It seems the thought of a pretty young nurse looking after him had helped change his mind about sleeping rough. 'Ben said I needed to be clean. Said I stink too much. Hosing me down don't do it enough. So, we was goin' on a trip to the seaside.' Pat stopped and considered sadly, 'Now Ben's dead. T'aint fair, I'm the one supposed to die!'

'The Cure' Pat was talking about was a new government initiative to help men like Pat dry out and reform. Or at the very least get their drinking under control. It was being supervised by the Returned Soldiers League, but it wasn't a free program, and Lucien wondered how Ben was going to pay for it.

Matthew tried to bring the interview back on point. He cleared his throat and asked 'Pat, you haven't told us where you have been. We need to know.'

'Think Pat, think hard.' Cajoled Lucien. 'It's important.' He half pulled the flask out of his pocket to tempt Pat.

Pat eyed Lucien's pocket longingly and thought as hard as his pickled brain would allow.

'I's up the park dis mornin'.' He nodded in pleased remembrance of the bottle of sherry he had acquired. Lucien nodded encouraging. Pat frowned in concentration, then brightened. 'Slept 'unner the stairs!'

'You mean the 'stars'? You slept outside?' asked Matthew in confusion.

'Nah, STAIRS. 'Unner the stairs back o' the Op shop. Ben said I could kip there but had to be gone first light so that Mavis didn't know.' Pat was beaming at the men with his success in remembering.

'Last night, and the night before?' asked Matthew.

'All a' the time now. It's nice 'unner the stairs. Safe. Doan get wet in the rain.' Said Pat.

'Pat, can you remember, did anyone visit Ben yesterday morning? Did you see anyone?' Asked Lucien.

Pat thought. He eyed Lucien speculatively. 'Maybe. Maybe I did. Could remember better with a drink.'

Lucien looked at Matthew who nodded quietly back to him. So, Lucien picked up the now empty tea mug and poured another small dram of whiskey into it and handed the cup to Pat. Pat grabbed the cup eagerly and tossed it back.

'Whoa! Doc, that's mighty powerful.' Pat grinned with blackened teeth at Lucien. 'Shore helps the mem'ry that do. There was a bloke. Some bloke woke me. Early it were, shop weren't open yet. He came up the stairs an Ben let him into the shop, then he ran away.'

'Did you see him? Can you identify him for us?' asked Matthew eagerly.

'Nah, cain't see nuthin but stairs unner the stairs. But he had big feets. Clomping woke me right up. I kept real quite so Ben didn't know I was still there. Ben said not to be there late, so I left after the bloke left.'

Pat didn't have much else he could tell the men. They tried to jog his memory in different ways, but all he could recall was 'big feet'. He became distressed when they tried to push him, so with a silent nod to Lucien, Matthew called the interview over. Pat let Lucien do a quick examination, being rewarded with the last dram of whiskey.

Before leaving the cell, Lucien looked down kindly at Pat and said, 'Pat, you could still do the 'cure'. I'm sure we could find a way.'

Pat shook his head 'no'. 'Not much point now Doc. Ben was me only fren', me mate. Ain't no reason to do it now. 'Sides, I don't have me medals no more, so got no money to pay.'

Lucien's head snapped up in surprise. 'Medals?' he asked. Matthew cocked an ear in interest.

'Yeah, sold 'em all years ago to that Baker bloke. Kept me in drink fer' years those bits o' tin did. But they've gone now.'

'Pat, does Baker buy a lot of old service medals?' asked Matthew.

'Shore'. Everybody knows that. Gives ya' a good price too. Was sorta' sad to seem 'em go, but, they was just bad mem'ries anyway.'

'What about Ben? Did he sell his medals?' Lucien knew perfectly well he had not, but he now had a working theory.

'Ben? Nah. Kept 'em safe and tucked away, he did.' Replied Pat.

Lucien considered, 'Pat, do you know where Ben was getting the money to pay for the trip and the cure? Did he have some other medals to sell?'

But Pat had had enough, he just looked at Lucien and Matthew and said truculently, 'No. Ben were honest. Go 'way.' He laid down on the cot and turned his face to the wall.

…


	8. Chapter 8

When Opportunity Strikes 8

Mavis' eyes lit up when she saw Jean and Lucien enter her hospital room that evening, 'ello Luvvies!' she cried out with delight. 'You two are a sight for sore eyes!'

Jean leaned forward and gave Mavis a swift kiss on the cheek and handed her a small parcel of her shortbread. 'How are you feeling, Mavis?' she asked.

'Fine, I'm fine. But going stir-crazy in this place! When can I go home, Doc?' Mavis asked Lucien.

'Well, let's have a look'. Lucien read the chart at the foot of her bed, then he examined Mavis, shining a torch in her eyes, testing her reactions, gently manipulating her head from side to side and inspected the dressing on her forehead. 'Any soreness in the neck or headache?'

'A little bit of a head, but mainly the bump throbs a bit.' Mavis indicated her bandaged forehead.

'Let me see you walk about a bit please, Mavis' Lucien instructed.

Mavis swung her feet over the side of the bed and walked to the end of the room and back with no difficulty. 'I been getting up to go to the loo by myself all day, can't stand the idea of a bedpan!' she declared. Mavis then returned to bed and rearranged the sheets over herself.

'Well, I'd say it is safe for you go to home tomorrow,' replied Lucien. Mavis smiled broadly. 'But,' Lucien continued, 'the after effects of a concussion can be troublesome. You may have headaches or experience fatigue. I need you to take it easy for a while.'

Mavis' smile had faded. 'Can't I go back to the shop?'

'Can you promise me you will just sit there and not do any lifting or anything strenuous? Office work should be fine as long as you stay quiet,' asked Lucien somewhat sternly.

'I can tell the other ladies to keep an eye on her as well,' put in Jean.

Mavis sighed. 'Yes, alright. I promise.'

'Then you can go back in after the weekend, providing, you keep your promise.' Declared Lucien. 'You need to stay at home and rest until then.'

Mavis smiled in relief. She was a too active and busy person to be happy lolling around in bed all day. 'Thanks Doc.'

Jean looked at Mavis, 'Have you remembered anything else about who might have done this to you?' she asked.

Shaking her head carefully Mavis replied, 'No. And I have thought and thought. Not much else to do in here but think! All I can remember is someone knocked at the back door, Ben answered it and was talking to someone, then there was that sort of thump. Nothing else, I think maybe I got up to see, heard a noise or something… but nothing else.'

'You may never remember everything, Mavis' said Lucien. 'Try not to worry about it, head injuries can be funny things, you might remember tomorrow, or next year, or never.'

'Ah well,' sighed Mavis. Then she brightened a bit and patted the side of her bed and said to Jean, 'Sit here Jean, dear, I could use a good chinwag. Tell me everything that has been happening!'

Jean sat as directed and Lucien settled himself down in the visitors' chair. Between the two of them they filled Mavis in on all the details of the shop, Pat and what they could about the investigation into Ben's death.

'Goodness!' she exclaimed when she heard that Pat had been sleeping under her back stairs. 'Is that where he's been kipping? And I just thought the garbos were being a bit slack lately in their pick-ups. Poor old bugger. You know he was gassed?' Pat informed Lucien.

'Oh?' replied Lucien. 'Well, that could explain a lot…' he mused.

A disturbing thought occurred to Mavis, and she turned to Jean, 'Who's looking after Ben? He's got no family, I guess I was the closest to him after Pat. I don't want him going in a pauper's grave!'

'Don't worry Mavis,' said Jean consolingly, 'The RSL is going to give him a funeral, with full honours and he will be buried in the serviceman's section of the Ballarat Cemetery.'

'You told us he was a hero,' continued Lucien, 'we found his medals in his desk at the shop. He must have been a very brave man.'

'He was,' nodded Mavis gravely. 'And I'm glad you found his medals, I wasn't sure where he had them hid. I've already had that Baker feller sniffing around here asking me if I had any medals to sell! As if I'd sell Ben's medals to that weasel!' Mavis was indignant.

'Really? Does he often buy medals from you?' said Jean with raised eyebrows, surprized to hear that Baker had been visiting Mavis.

'He tries, but any that do come in I send straight to the RSL and he's not getting his hands on these ones either! I'm going to give them to the RSL where they will be put on display and properly respected. With Ben's name underneath and what he did to get them written up in nice words!' declared Mavis stoutly.

'I think that would be an excellent idea,' said Lucien approvingly.

Visiting hours were nearly finished, so they made their farewells before the Head Nurse could throw them out. Jean promised to visit Mavis and let her know how the shop reopening went, and Lucien also arranged to come with Jean to check Mavis over again.

As Jean and Lucien walked out of the hospital, Jean turned to Lucien and asked, 'I wonder if Mr. Baker was really asking about Ben's medals? Or was he hinting at something else?'

'Hmmmm.' Was Lucien's only answer.

…..

Early next morning at 8am saw Jean arrive at the Animal Charities Op-Shop with key in hand. Standing outside the shop waiting was Bill Hobart.

'Good morning Bill!' greeted Jean. 'Matthew still wants you here today?'

'Morning Mrs. B.' he answered back. 'Yes, the Boss says to stick around for a while, interview customers, keep an eye on things.'

'Well, I hope it won't be too boring for you!' she replied.

Bill smiled back, 'Bit of a holiday, really, Mrs. B.'

Jean opened the shop and let Bill in, then locked the door behind them. Looking over the shop as she entered, she strode to the office and flung over her shoulder, 'What say we have a cup of tea first? I've brought the milk as well as some of my shortbread. It's a bit early for sweet things, but I won't tell if you don't.'

Bill followed her into the office with alacrity. Jean's shortbread was not to be missed. While they drank their tea and indulged in a sweet biscuit each, Jean reviewed the accounts once more. Bill briefed Jean on how he would approach customers. Betty Jamison, the volunteer who was helping Jean today arrived, knocked on the window and was let in. Jean introduced Betty to Bill, explained why he was there, showed her the arrangement of the mirror and then it was time to start the day.

Jean unlocked the front door promptly at 9am, surprised to see a small bustle of 9 or 10 people waiting for her to do so. As the group filed in they smiled and chatted with her, crowding around to find out about Mavis, how she was doing and when she would be returning. There were a few curious questions about Ben's death as well, but when Jean told them to ask Sergeant Hobart, 'over there', about that, the questions dried up.

But Jean was quite surprised at how personable Bill could be with the customers. He had stationed himself by the front door, and while he wasn't exactly cheerful, he was certainly pleasant to the them all. He was polite and discreet with his questions, taking names and statements as unobtrusively as possible. After a few minutes she all but forgot he was there but was amused later to turn and see him patiently holding up two frocks in front of an elderly woman who was debating which to buy. Jean was even more delighted inside when the old dear ended up buying both frocks 'on the recommendation of that nice young policeman over there.' Jean sent Bill a quizzical look, he just shrugged back at her with a wry smile.

The shop was flat out all morning. Betty and Jean hardly had a moment to take a breath. Jean tried to stay behind the counter as much as possible where she could keep an eye on everything. Near to lunch Trash and Treasure flounced in and began to rifle through the 'after 5' rack of dresses, trying things on and rejecting them onto the floor. Jean pursed her lips and kept a close eye on their antics, but then was interrupted by Betty who had a confusing question from a customer.

'Jean, its most peculiar, but I've got a lady asking for her donation back!' Betty tipped her head in the direction of a washed out, tired looking woman in the front corner of the shop. Jean looked back at Betty and shook her head a bit in disbelief.

'You're kidding!' she exclaimed softly. 'I don't know if we can do that, I've never had anyone ask for things back before. I guess, if she can tell you when she left it, what it was and get her name we can search the storeroom afterhou….'

Jean caught a glimpse of something in the mirror across the room. She was sure she had just seen 'Trash' roll up and slip a lovely silk scarf into her handbag!

Distracted, she glanced back at Betty and said, 'Get her name and number, I'll call her later.' And Jean returned her attention to the mirror in time to see 'Treasure' stuff a satin blouse into her bag.

'Gotcha'!' thought Jean to herself. Quickly and quietly she slipped over to Bill. Turning her back to Trash and Treasure she pretended to fix something in the window display while whispering to Bill out of the side of her mouth, 'Those two women by the dressing room, the ones that have been throwing clothes about, they just stuffed their handbags full of goods.'

Bill shot a keen glance at the ladies then looked away.

'Right', he muttered quietly back. 'Got 'em. You go back to the counter, if they buy the stuff then no worries, but if they try to leave the shop, I'll nick 'em.'

Jean scuttled back to the counter and plastered an innocent, bland smile on her face as she looked about the shop. A young teen approached the counter and handed over some money to buy a rhinestone hair clip she fancied. Trash and Treasure were moving around the shop, angling towards the doorway. While Jean took the girl's money she couldn't watch what Trash and Treasure were up to, but she certainly heard it.

'CERTAINLY NOT!' shrilled Trash.

'How DARE you!' screeched Treasure.

Heads turned to watch in delighted shock. Bill blocked the doorway impassively. He looked at both women again and repeated his request, 'Please ladies, I need to see inside your bags.'

'You have NO right!' Trash was indignant.

Bill simply gestured to the sign clearly posted behind the counter that read 'We reserve the right to search all bags' and reached for the bags.

'Well I NEVER' huffed Treasure. She and Bill engaged in a bit of a tug-of-war before she finally relinquished her handbag. With a snort Trash followed suit. Bill opened both bags and withdrew the items in question.

'Ladies?' he queried. 'What are these?'

'Oh!' tittered Treasure, 'I must have forgotten to pay!'

'You too?' Bill asked Trash.

'Must have.' She replied insolently.

'Ladies, I am afraid I have to arrest you both for shoplifting. I need you to come down to the station with me. Now.' Bill was grim.

Trash sputtered, and Treasure looked pale and frightened. 'You can't…' she whimpered. 'Can't I just pay now….'

'Do you know who you are dealing with?' declared Trash. 'I'll have your badge for this! Arresting me over second-hand clothes!'

Bill merely looked over to Jean and said, 'I have to take these items of clothing in for evidence. These two ladies will be coming to the station with me. I'll check back in later.' He stuffed the clothes back into the bags, looped them over his arm and then grasping each woman firmly by the wrist that he hustled the two protesting ladies out of the shop, much to the delight of the onlooking customers.

'Well I never!' said a flabbergasted Betty approaching the counter.

Jean looked around the shop at the thrilled customers cheerfully gossiping about the latest drama in the shop and sighed. 'With luck this will stop the thefts. I cannot know what or why they were doing it!' Looking around the shop she searched for the woman Betty had been talking to.

'Betty? Where did your customer go? The one who wanted items returned?' she asked.

Betty shook her head, 'As soon as Bill left, she ran out of the shop. Refused to leave her name or number like you asked.'

'I wonder…' mused Jean. Just then another customer demanded her attention and she put that thought out of her mind.

…..

 _Sorry if you couldn't find this chapter. For some reason the system keeps putting coding into the story. Hopefully it works this time..._


	9. Chapter 9

When Opportunity Strikes 9

Lucien was seated opposite Matthew's desk, discussing the Ben's case together when they heard a scuffle in the outer office and the sobs of a woman. Both men looked at each other curiously, and as one got up to see what the commotion was all about. Peering around the door into the outer office they were both astonished to see Sergeant Bill Hobart trying to drag a reluctant woman up to the front desk. Bill's hat was missing, his hair mussed, jacket torn open and missing buttons and a nasty looking set of scratches scored one of his cheeks.

As Lucien and Matthew watched, the duty officer behind the desk scuttled to help Bill with a very upset and recalcitrant Treasure. Trash was nowhere to be seen. The D.O. assisted Bill by forcing Treasure's arms into arm lock behind her back and marching her up to the counter. Bill followed, dabbing his bleeding cheek with his handkerchief, brushing down his hair and straightening up his tie and jacket. Moving behind the desk he took up pen and opened the log book, looked at the struggling Trash and asked 'Name?'

Treasure wriggled in the D.O.'s hold and gave a few more sobs but refused to answer.

'Right,' said Bill, 'into the cells you go. Charges of shoplifting, assault of a police officer, resisting arrest…'

'C-C-Carol! Mrs. Caroline Jones!' Blurted out Treasure. 'You can't arrest me! I can't go to jail!' She wailed. 'Call my husband! I want Tommy!'

Bill looked at her impassively and said, 'You are under arrest Mrs. Jones. Your husband will be notified in due course. The officer here will now escort you down to a cell pending a further interview.'

Caroline (Treasure) Jones gave another wailing sob as the D.O took her down. Muttering to himself, Bill stomped to the inner office past an astonished Lucien and Matthew, flung himself into his chair and began to fill out a report.

Lucien and Matthew looked at each other again, then Matthew walked over to Bill and asked, 'Care to elaborate a bit on that, Bill?'

Bill looked up at Matthew grimly. 'Arrested two women shoplifting from the Animal Charities' Op-Shop. Had them both by the wrists, when the bigger one turned on me and attacked! Like holding onto a wildcat! I managed to keep a grip on that Mrs. Jones, but the other broke free and took off.' He dabbed at his bleeding cheek once more.

'Here, better let me look at that, Bill,' consoled Lucien and he moved forward to administer first aid, pulling his bag over from where it was stashed under Matthews' desk... 'Scratches like that can be nasty and get infected,' he commented as he carefully cleaned the wounds. 'You're lucky she missed your eye.'

Bill winced as the antiseptic stung the scratches and grunted.

'You know better than to try and bring in two suspects at once on your own Bill!' admonished Matthew. 'Why didn't you call for assistance?'

'Didn't think I'd need to worry about that with a couple of women!' protested Bill. 'They were coming along right docile until we got close to the Station House when the big one turned on me.'

'I think you were a brave man to try, especially with your track record with women, Bill!' snickered Matthew. 'Did you get the other one's name when you arrested her?'

'No, it was all I could do to get them both to come along. And look how well that turned out.' Bill glared at Matthew, 'The boys'll never let me live it down, bested by a sheila!'

'You arrested them both at the Op-Shop? Is Jean okay?' asked Lucien, concerned.

'She was the one who spotted them both nicking things. Regular Sherlock Holmes your wife is, Doc!' replied Bill.

'Yes, she has her talents,' smirked Lucien as he put away the first-aid gear. 'Bill,' he continued, 'I'd like to sit in on your interview with this Mrs. Jones if you don't mind.'

'Right-oh. Fine with me if the Boss approves,' both looked at Matthew who nodded his permission.

…

Lucien and Bill were sitting behind the large interview desk when a constable brought a now subdued Carol Jones into the room. The constable seated her on the opposite side of the desk and retreated to the corner chair to take notes.

Carol looked at the two men with wide, scared eyes. 'Is Tommy coming? Have you called Tommy?' she asked.

'Mrs. Jones, do you understand the charges being brought against you?' sternly asked Bill.

She nodded and stuttered, 'Y-yes. But officer, I didn't attack you! Okay, maybe I struggled a bit, but I never!'

'You agree you were caught shoplifting and resisted arrest?' Bill reiterated.

Carol nodded hesitantly.

'If you fully co-operate in this interview I will see about waiving the more serious charge of assault on a police officer. Are you willing to co-operate?' Bill was stern.

'Yes! Yes of course.' Carol agreed readily.

'Your husband, Thomas Jones has been informed of your arrest and will be here soon. I have a number of questions I wish to ask you. Are you willing to proceed without his presence?' Bill asked.

Again, Carol nodded her head. 'Yes, yes. I think… I think I'd rather talk to you first. He will be so angry at me.' Carol began to look weepy again and Lucien silently offered her his handkerchief.

Taking the proffered hankie, she dabbed her eyes and commented sadly, 'It was all Louise's idea, really.'

'Louise? This is your accomplice?' Bill asked.

'Accomplice? No, no, it was all her idea! She is the one who talked me into it! I just came along for the fun of it all!' protested Carol.

'Stealing from a charity shop is fun?' Lucien spoke up, slightly appalled.

Carol had the grace to look guilty. 'We didn't take things at first. Just tried clothes on and saw what was in the shops. Did a different one three times a week.'

'Three times a week?' Bill questioned.

'Yes!' Carol was eager now to prove she was co-operating. 'Monday's at the Salvos is when they bring in all the new stock, Thursday is usually the Sacred Hearts, and we did Tuesday because… well…' she cast a nervous glance at Lucien.

'Because?' Bill encouraged severely.

'Because Mrs. Blake was there!' Carol finished in a rush.

Lucien scowled at Carol. 'Why? Why bother my wife? What have you got against her?'

'Me? I don't have anything against Mrs. Blake, she's a lovely woman…'Carol said hastily trying to appease Lucien. 'But Louise said she was too clever, too nosy, always watching us at the Sacred Heart she was, making it difficult for us there. She wanted us banned! So, when she changed shops, Louise said we should get even…. So, we took a few things… Louise said it would make her look bad.' Carol looked at Lucien guiltily. 'I know it was wrong, I didn't want to, but Louise insisted, and when Louise insists on something… and she was paying…'

'You were getting paid for shoplifting?' asked Bill incredulously.

'No, not shoplifting. For SPOTTING. Louise is a 'spotter'. She gets paid for it and she paid me to come along and spot with her.' Carol said.

Bill looked at Carol in bemusement. 'You're a 'spotter'. What exactly does a 'spotter' do? And who pays her?'

Carol enthusiastically explained, 'A spotter is someone who goes around all the op-shops and second-hand stores and pretends to shop but is really looking out for things. When new donations come in, what they are and who they are from. Then you tell the buyer and maybe you buy it for them or they buy the item and sell it on. If they get a good price you get a commission from it! You can sometimes earn good money for it! Once I spotted a Royal Doulton coronation plate! A really rare find, not even chipped! I earned 5 pounds from that one find alone!'

'And have you 'spotted' anything interesting lately?' asked Lucien mildly, trying not to show too much interest.

'Well, there was an old roll-top desk at the Salvos, nothing much at the Hearts' and then there was a big bag of things at the Animals' that Louise said looked interesting – but I couldn't see why… it just looked like a lot of old tat from someone's holidays. But she said we would tell her brother anyway, said she saw something in it.' Said Carol musingly.

'Her brother?' inquired Bill.

'Oh yes! Her brother is Bob Baker, he buys all sorts of things. Runs that antique store over in Maldon.' Said Carol.

'And perhaps you could help us locate Louise?' pushed Bill.

'Weeeellll, I guess so. She's still a Baker, never married. Louise Baker, she lives in her parents' old place out near Lake Wendouree, do you want the address?'

….

After the interview, Tommy Jones' came and took charge of his wife. The police released her into his supervision pending the court case. Bill Hobart dropped the assault charge as agreed, but she still needed to appear on shoplifting and resisting arrest charges. Tommy Jones did not look so happy with his wife as they left the station and could be heard remonstrating with her as they left the station.

Bill and Lucien let Matthew know the result of the interview and he immediately began to organise to pick up Louise Baker as well as visit Bob Baker.

'Bill, take a constable and get over to Louise Baker's place. See if she's there and bring her in. Be careful, don't let her get the drop on you again!' Bill glared. 'I'll grab Charlie and head out to Baker's shop. It's a good hour drive over to Maldon so we'd better get our skates on. Lucien, you go away, do your doctoring thing,' he waved Lucien off. 'Don't worry, I'll catch you up tonight.' He reassured him.

'I've got a full afternoon of patients anyway,' replied Lucien, somewhat annoyed to be waved off like that, but also realising he really did need to attend to surgery today. Without Jean there it was going to be difficult, but he couldn't put people off too often. Picking up his bag he turned to go, but stopped and said to Matthew, 'Take care, old son. If Baker is our man, he has already killed once. Don't let him get the drop on you.'

'Grandmothers and eggs, Lucien,' was Matthews' only reply.

…

Matthew and Charlie sped to Maldon. To Charlie's great delight, Matthew let him turn on the siren and lights and put his foot flat to the floor. Car's peeled off to either side of the Ballarat road to let them through. They reached Maldon in record time, well under the usual hour or so.

Charlie had turned off the siren and lights before pulling up into Spring Street where Baker's shop was located. Baker housed his business in large shed next to an old weatherboard house. Pulling up into the drive they noticed a few cars parked in the lot. Charlie and Matthew strode over to the shed. The front of the shed had a corrugated roller door which was currently fully open. Both men peered in, trying to see into the gloom. It took their eyes a few seconds to adjust from the bright sunlight outside to the dusky interior where a few customers were poking around.

Inside was a jumble of bits and bobs hanging from walls, spilling out of boxes or displayed on old doors turned into tables with fruit boxes for legs. It looked like Baker sold anything and everything, from old clocks, battered chairs, rusty farm tools, jars, bottles, crockery, enamel signs proclaiming 'Peters The Health Food of A Nation' and overflowing bins and racks of clothing. It was a real hodgepodge of eclectic items. Charlie moved into the shed with Matthew following gingerly, mindful of his cane tripping up or knocking over some piece of rusty junk.

At the far end of the shed a portly man watched them approach warily.

'Help you, gent's?' he inquired suspiciously. He wasn't keen to see a pair of coppers in his place and he frantically tried to recall if he had remembered to renew his second-hand traders licence this year.

Charlie reached the proprietor first and inquired, 'Bob Baker?'

'Yass?' replied Baker cautiously.

'We'd like to ask you a few questions about a rather serious matter that occurred in Ballarat earlier this week,' continued Charlie.

'Don't know nuthin about anything to do with it!' Baker immediately responded.

'To do with what?' Charlie replied.

'Anything to do with anything! I'm an honest dealer!' Baker sputtered.

'And you came by these honestly?' Matthew had paused in his walk to the shop to investigate a locked glass display case that held a variety of bits of jewellery and included 4 different sets of war service medals. He was particularly interested in one set of three medals, one of which included a Military Medal. Close inspection of the faded ribbon showed fraying near a bright, un-faded bar of material. It sure looked like something had been torn off.

'I've got receipts for everything!' declared Baker.

'We'll need to see those.' Said Matthew. 'But we need to ask you about your whereabouts Tuesday morning of this week.'

'Tuesday! What are you trying to pin on me! I wasn't anywhere near Mavis' shop Tuesday!' protested Baker.

'Who said anything about Mavis' shop?' pressed Charlie.

'I'm not an idiot, man!' Baker was indigent. 'I heard someone was killed in her shop, and now two Ballarat coppers come knocking at my door asking where I was and scaring off customers!' And indeed, the three or four browsers had promptly got into their cars and departed once Charlie had begun his questioning of Baker.

'Yes, well you also have not answered the question!' replied Matthew.

'Here! I was right here! In my shop, sorting out inventory!' proclaimed Baker.

'And you can prove that? Somebody see you?' Charlie asked.

'I was here, no one saw me, I live alone. I wasn't anywhere else! Opened the shop at 10am as usual!' Baker declared.

'Plenty of time to get back from Ballarat. I'm afraid we'll need to ask you to come back with us for further questioning.' Matthew leaned on his cane and then added, 'And we need to take these medals in as evidence as well.'

'I have receipts! I'm an honest trader!' said Baker desperately.

'Bring them as well. Do we need to get a warrant, or will you come along nicely and not make any trouble? It will go easier if you come along voluntarily,' said Charlie menacingly. Charlie had been practicing.

'Okay! Okay!' Baker held up his hands in surrender, he moved over to the glass case and taking out of his pocket a large bundle of keys fiddled around until he found the correct one and opened the glass case. He reached in and pulled out all the medals and dropped them into a paper bag then handed to bag to Matthew. 'You should give me a receipt for those,' he declared.

'Certainly, they will be all correctly entered in the book back at the station and you will get a copy.' Said Charlie tersely, annoyed at what the man was suggesting. 'Now, where is YOUR receipt book?'

Baker scrabbled around in a desk drawer and pulled out a tatty ledger and silently handed it to Charlie.

'You have a car?' asked Matthew.

'What? You want me to drive myself to the lock-up?' said Baker incredulously.

'Unless you want to spend the night in the cells, yes. Though, thinking about it, you may have to anyway…' mused Matthew.

'No! No! Its no trouble at all! Happy to drive!' Baker said hurriedly.

'Right then, I'll go with Baker, make sure he doesn't get lost. You take the car back, Charlie. No need to hurry this time. Baker, lock up the shop. Quicker we get this done the better.' Instructed Matthew. 'Oh, and by the way Baker, have you heard from your sister?'

….


	10. Chapter 10

When Opportunity Strikes 10

Matthew and Charlie were home late for dinner that night. Jean and Lucien were just about to have some desert when the two men strolled in.

'Sorry we're late,' apologised Charlie as he and Matthew sat down at the table

'Not a problem,' Jean reassured them both, 'the casserole stayed nicely warm in the oven, waiting for you!' and she proceeded to dish out generous helpings to both men.

Jean and Lucien were both bursting with curiosity but let them eat their dinner in peace. They talked about ordinary things, the cricket, the opening of a new restaurant in town, mundane subjects. Jean was a firm believer in letting people enjoy their food without being pestered by questions, but even she found it difficult tonight to refrain! Finally, both men had scraped their plates clean. Charlie took their dishes to the sink and gave them a rinse. Matthew leaned back in his chair and gave a contented sigh.

'Ahem.' Lucien cleared his throat. Matthew looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

'Well?' pleaded Jean. 'I've got apple pie and ice cream, but you don't get any until you put us out of our misery! What happened with Baker? And the shoplifters?'

Matthew smiled at her, 'Jean, for a piece of your pie, I'd reveal State secrets!'

Jean snorted, got up and took the pie out of the oven where it had been keeping warm. She cut them all generous slices while Lucien went to the 'fridge and got out the ice cream. She handed them all a serve of pie a 'la mode, and while they dug in Matthew began to talk.

'We interviewed Baker but had to let him go.' He said through a mouthful of pie.

'What? Good Lord, why?' Protested Lucien.

'No evidence. Nothing we can pin on him.' Matthew said, shaking his head.

'He is certainly suspicious and has no alibi for the time Ben was murdered. But it was all too flimsy to hold him, nothing to connect him with Ben's murder,' said Charlie grimly. Even Jean's pie wasn't cheering him up.

'But, did you find medals in his shop? You did, didn't you?' asked Lucien.

'Yes, and he has receipts of purchase for each.' Charlie scoffed. 'All neatly written out and correct in form… for a Mr. J. Smith of Ballarat, no street address, and a Mrs. J. Dough of Castlemaine, no street address… and so on. Bogus names and no full addresses, all cash sales.'

'Surely that is suspicious!' said Jean indignantly.

'Suspicious, yes.' replied Matthew, 'but not illegal. He's abided by the letter of the law, took a name and location. That is all he is required to do for tax purposes. Receipts are only for return of goods, not to trace the seller. We cannot prove one or the other if they are legit sales or faked.'

'Well that's just plain ridiculous!' Jean was incensed.

Matthew threw his hands up in defeat. 'That's the law as it stands now. Trust me, it is something the police and lawyers have been trying to change for years.'

'We've kept the medals, though,' put in Charlie. 'We are going to contact the RSL to see if we can identify them. If it turns out he got them through legitimate sales, we'll return them. If not, well, at the very least we can do him for misrepresentation and possibly receiving stolen goods. Just have to track down the original recipients though.'

'Try Canberra, the War Memorial there,' advised Lucien. 'If you look at the back of the Medals there should be a serial number stamped there. The office in Canberra will be able to give you the name of the solider each medal was awarded to.'

'Thanks Doc!' said Charlie gratefully. 'That'll be a big help.'

'But what about Trash?' exclaimed Jean.

'Who?' asked Matthew confusedly.

Jean blushed a bit. 'Mavis always called those two women 'Trash and Treasure'. Lucien said you had charged Treasure, or rather Carol Jones, but that Trash had got away from Bill.'

'Oh, you mean Louise Baker… haven't found her yet and Bill is ropable.' Responded Charlie with a grin.

Jean just shook her head. 'Louise Baker? Is she related to Baker the second-hand dealer?'

'Sister.' Said Charlie shortly.

'Well surely THAT is suspicious as well!' huffed Jean.

'Can't arrest someone for who their relatives are.' Said Charlie.

'Although it would be a big help sometimes…' muttered Matthew under his breath.

'So, we got nowhere today?' said Lucien in a quiet voice.

'No, not really. Maybe something will come out once we find Louise Baker. Or when we find out more about the medals. But I just don't know. I still think Baker is our best shot, but we're back to square one.' Matthew looked defeated.

They discussed the case together as Charlie and Lucien washed and dried the dishes but could not come to any conclusions. They tossed it around and around and upside down until eventually Matthew pushed himself away from the table. 'Thanks Jean, that was lovely, but if you'll excuse me, I'm tired and going to have an early night.' Staring at each other across the table, Lucien, Jean and Charlie listened to Matthews' cane thump up the hallway. Charlie shook his head, gave in and said, 'I think I'll turn in too, I've got a book that wants finishing…'

….

Much later that evening, as Jean rested naked in Lucien's embrace, she murmured, 'Lucien?'

'Hmmmm?' responded a Lucien sleepy after loving his wife.

'That woman in the shop today…'

'What woman was that dearest?' Lucien was half-asleep.

'She came in wanting her donated goods back. Which is very unusual.'

'Mmmmm? So?' he mumbled.

'I think we should try and find out why.' Determined Jean.

Lucien's eyes opened wider. 'How? And Why?'

'I have the addresses I gave Bill of the recent donations. I am sure she was one of those people, it makes sense. You wouldn't try and get back something you donated weeks ago. Maybe the bag she left had the medals in it and she didn't realise? Shouldn't we try to find out?' pressed Jean.

Lucien clasped his arms around Jean tighter. 'Jeanie, we think someone died over those medals. I don't want you poking around in something dangerous.'

'So, you'll come with me then?' Jean was insistent.

Lucien sighed. 'Maybe we should leave to the police?'

Jean turned in his arms, so she could see his face in the moonlight. 'Lucien, the woman ran away when she heard Bill arrest Trash and Treasure. I don't think the police will be helpful at all in this. I think we'd have a much better chance if we just visited her ourselves. Friendly, but concerned.'

'Maybe,' he mused.

'So, you'll come with me in the morning, before I go to the shop?' Jean pressed. 'We can do the Chapman's first, follow up on Charlies' inquiry.'

Lucien looked at his wife, realising that she was going to pursue this no matter what he said. So, he'd best ride along with her and make sure she stayed safe. 'If you're sure, Jean. Yes, I'll come with you.'

Jean gave him a loving kiss and murmured a 'Thank you' into his lips.

Lucien grinned under her smile. 'Just how grateful are you, my love?' Running his hands along her naked back and resting them on her shapely bottom.

'Lucien!' said Jean in surprise…. 'But…?'

'My powers of recuperation are greatly improving with practice,' he declared and kissed her.

…

Early the next day found Jean and Lucien standing on the front porch of the worn weather board house in west Ballarat. Jean reached forward and rapped on the door. Lucien stood behind her with his hands in his pockets rocking on the balls of feet. Glancing left he noticed the curtains twitch in the window.

'Someone's watching,' he noted quietly to Jean.

'Well, she's not answering the door!' replied Jean. She knocked on the door again and called out, 'Mrs. Chapman? It's only Jean. Jean Blake from the Op shop!' The curtains twitched again.

Jean and Lucien waited a while longer. Jean sighed. 'I don't think she is going to answer…' and at that moment the front door cracked open slightly. A pale grey watery eye peered out at them.

'Mrs. Chapman?' asked Jean. 'I'm Jean Blake, this is my husband Doctor Blake. You wanted to talk to me yesterday in the shop, but I didn't get the chance, I'm so sorry.'

Mrs. Chapman opened the door wider to reveal a tired looking middle-aged woman. If you could say one thing about Ellie Chapman, it was this: grey. Her completion was grey, her faded blond hair looked greyish, her clothing was a washed out grey, she had grey bruises fading on her arms and she just slumped in a 'grey' fashion at the doorway.

'It's alright. I don't want it back. I made a mistake.' She said in a grey, monotone voice.

'But it must have been important, for you to come all the way back in to ask?' asked Jean kindly.

The woman sighed. 'No, no. Nothing important. It was a mistake.'

'But you seemed so concerned in the shop! What was in the donation? Can I go look for it for you? If I find it, I can return it to you.' Jean coaxed.

A look of panic flashed across Mrs. Chapman's face. 'No! No, there was nothing. Nothing.' And she started to close the door.

'Wait, please Mrs. Chapman!' interjected Lucien. 'Could you at least tell us what was in the bag?'

'Just rubbish. Rubbish from my father-in-law. My husband was angry when he found out I had given it all away.' She rubbed at the bruises on her arms.

Lucien looked concerned. 'Did he hurt you Mrs. Chapman? Are you alright?'

Ellie Chapman thrust her jaw out at Lucien. 'I'm fine. Everything's fine. He thought I had given something away something of his Dad's that he wanted to keep, but I didn't. I don't want anything back. All it was, was junk his father had saved after visiting old mates in New Zealand. He was angry I went to see you Mrs. Blake.' She looked at Jean pleadingly.

'Your husband, is he home? Can we talk to him?' Lucien asked.

Now Mrs. Chapman looked really frightened. 'No! he's not here! Don't tell him I spoke to you! Go away!' Again, she started to close the door, but Lucien stuck his foot in the way.

'Tell me' he pleaded.

'Dogs! He's gone to the Dog's!' she cried.

'I can help you Mrs. Chapman, if he's that far gone…' Lucien thought perhaps Chapman was drinking or in trouble, but he felt Jean tugging on his sleeve.

'She means the Greyhound races, Lucien.' Said Jean quietly.

'Oh,' and blushing slightly he removed his foot from the doorway. Ellie Chapman shut it firmly with a sharp click, leaving Jean and Lucien standing there.

They walked away, not noticing the curtains twitch behind them.

…

Lucien drove Jean to the Op Shop and dropped her off. It was Friday, and Lucien decided he was glad Mavis would be returning to work in Monday. He wasn't sure if he liked having a full-time 'working wife'.

Lucien thought he would stop in and check on Dr Harvey briefly before stopping into the station to let Matthew know about their conversation with Mrs. Chapman. As unproductive as it had been, Lucien felt there was something odd about the entire thing.

Alice looked up as Lucien walked into the morgue and pursed her lips. 'Good morning Lucien, to what do I owe the honour?' she said somewhat acerbically.

Lucien smiled, abashed, at Alice. 'Just thought I was neglecting you here Alice. My apologies. And my thanks for doing Ben Parker's autopsy.'

Alice was mollified. 'You read the report – do you want to review? Nothing out of the ordinary, blunt force trauma to the head.'

'You still have the body?' asked Lucien. 'I don't need to review your work, but I'd like to see the man.'

'Yes, the RSL will be claiming the body on Monday for the funeral, but he's still here in the Drawer number 4.' Replied Alice.

'Do you mind if I have a quick look, Alice?' asked Lucien hesitantly. He didn't want Alice to think he was checking up on her.

'Of course,' and she turned on her heel and strode to the refrigerated room containing the body cabinets. Lucien followed her and watched as she pulled open Drawer 4 and slid the body out for him to view.

Lucien stood and looked down sadly at the old man lying dead on the cold metal. He contemplated the fragility of life and the finality of death for a few moments, then looked up at Alice and said, 'Thank you, Alice.'

Alice began to slide Ben back into the wall when she hesitated. Turning to Lucien she said, 'There was one thing, it wasn't anything major; I did mention it in my report as an addendum.' She reached over, lifted Ben's right hand and showed Lucien. 'There is a scratch, like something sharp was dragged across his hand. A pin or a nail or something. It has nothing to do with the cause of death, but it is curious.'

Lucien looked carefully at the dead man's hand. 'Like he was holding something, and it was torn from his hand?'

'Perhaps.' Mused Alice. 'But as I said, nothing to do with the cause of death.'

'Quite.' Lucien nodded, thinking hard. 'Thank you, Alice. We'll see you this Sunday for lunch?' he asked.

Alice smiled. 'Looking forward to it Doctor.'

….

Arriving at the Police Station, Lucien waved to the Duty Officer and strode into Matthew's office. He found the men all at their desks, Bill was doing paperwork, Charlie was on the phone and Matthew was reading reports.

'Morning all,' he called. Matthew looked up as Lucien seated himself in front of his desk. He just grunted at Lucien's greeting. Matthew listened as Lucien detailed his and Jean's visit to the Chapman house earlier.

'So, nothing there either.' He noted sourly.

'Doesn't seem so, but it didn't feel right. She is certainly being abused, but I don't know if it has any bearing on this case.' Replied Lucien.

'This case is just full of dead ends.' Mathew was glumly considering the report he was working on in front of him, the paper holding Ben Parker's name.

The Duty Officer came in and handed an envelope to Charlie, who took it while still talking on the phone. Writing down what was being said to him over the landline a big smile began to spread across his face. Putting the phone down, he then opened the envelope, took out what was inside and read it. His smile turned into a giant grin.

Charlie went over to Matthew's desk, beaming. 'Boss, I got the names of who won those medals you found in Baker's shop.' He handed over the list he had been writing down. 'And City has just delivered the results of the fingerprints from the Tiki. They got a match!'

Matthew took the proffered list and report and read them carefully. He handed them to Lucien. Then looking up at Charlie he simply said, 'Bring him in.'

...


	11. Chapter 11

When Opportunity Strikes 11

'Charlie, wait just a minute,' Matthew said as he handed the reports to Lucien. Lucien looked through the paperwork then handed it to Bill to read as well.

'I see he has form,' was Lucien's comment.

'Break and Enter, Assault, Aggravated Assault, Assault causing bodily harm… the man has already done a stretch over in Castlemaine for putting a Bookie into hospital,' replied Matthew. '

'If he killed Pat, and this evidence points to him, then it may well be his neck that stretches this time,' commented Charlie.

'It has to be him,' said Bill from his desk, 'fingerprints don't lie.' He handed the reports back to Lucien and Matthew.'

'No, they don't lie, but they could be on the murder weapon for a perfectly reasonable reason,' responded Lucien.'

'How's that?' queried Bill with disbelief.

'Well,' mused Lucien, 'maybe he just handled the Tiki when he was looking through his father's things, and the real murderer used gloves?'

Bill looked at him sceptically. 'Sounds far-fetched. Plus, the medals were his fathers', Bill pointed to the notes Charlie had taken from the Canberra bureau, 'James John Chapman', of Ballarat.

'Yes, sounds very unlikely, Lucien,' agreed Matthew. Lucien just shrugged in agreement. 'Anyway, we need to pick him up for an interview. Lucien, you said you were at his home this morning?'

'That's right,' agreed Lucien. 'His wife said he had gone to the Dog Races.'

'Dogs' are running until 3 today,' put in Bill. They all turned as one to see the big station clock on the wall read 11.30am. 'There's a brief intermission for lunch at 12, then they race again at 1. If he's a real punter he'll be staying for feature race at 2pm.' Bill often went to the track as several of his snitches frequented there.

'Charlie, put together a team. We need to cover all the exits. I want everyone in place by 1pm. Bill, you and I will go with Charlie. You see if any of your contacts down at the tracks can identify him, this mug shot,' he waved the report about, 'is worse than useless. But proceed with caution, Robert Chapman is a dangerous man.'

….

Matthew let Lucien tag along as an 'observer' under strict instructions not to interfere. He seated himself unobtrusively in the grandstand and looked about him with interest. The Broadway Park track had been running since 1935 and was starting to look a bit rundown. It wasn't a large crowd today, as it wasn't a major race meeting, but it was busy enough. People were always willing to lay down a bet. There had been discussion in Council Chambers about building a new track soon. He could remember his father talking about how it was a wonderful 'working man's sport,' and he had encouraged several of his patients to own a greyhound. His father had said that as the dog owners had to walk the hound daily, it was a great way to get people who would otherwise never consider exercising, out and about.

Lucien had heard some unsavoury things about the sport and how the animals were treated, but Jean had also told him how the RSPCA was working with the Racing Authority to try and clean up the sport. The dogs were such beautiful animals he noticed, and it looked like the loved running and racing. He hoped the reforms would succeed.

Charlie had efficiently organised all available men to the Broadway track in record time. All exits were manned by a constable. Matthew, Bill and Charlie were patrolling the grounds inside watching the punters as they strolled.

Bill slowed, waved Matthew and Charlie on, then sidled up to a small man in a brown suit and battered trilby hat leaning on the track railing. Causally Bill leaned forward and peered down the straightway. Without seeming to notice the man in the brown suit, he spoke quietly out of the side of his mouth while looking away, 'G'day Harry, need a favour.'

Harry 'the Hustler' Harrison, gave Bill the side-eye, then sighed under his breath. 'You know I don't like talking to you out here. What do you want this time, quick!'

'You know a Robert Chapman, Harry?' asked Bill in an undertone.

'That nong! Useless waste of space he is,' said Harry derisively.

'So, you know him then?' continued Bill.

'Everyone knows him since he put Stevens in hospital. 6 months! Stevens was in plaster longer than the 6-month stretch they gave Chapman!' said Harry indigently.

'He here today?' asked Bill.

'Yass. Splashing cash around to impress his lady-friend.' Harry snorted. 'Ain't having much luck though, losing all his zack. About ready to spit the dummy, he is.'

'Could you point him out, maybe?' Bill was getting testy.

'Yass.' Harry casually turned around and adjusted his hat and tie while scanning the grounds. 'He's over there, by the Tote. Big bruiser by Bookie number 3. That's his sheila he's with, in the red dress.'

Bill looked over where Harry indicated then did a double-take. Quickly, he straightened up with a 'Thanks Harry, owe you one,' and walked quickly over to where Matthew and Charlie where waiting behind a pillar.

'That you do,' muttered Harry under his breath.

'Stone the flamin' crows!' exclaimed Bill Hobart incredulously to the two men. 'I don't bloody believe it! Will you have a butchers at who's with him!' Bill indicated where Chapman was and the woman next to him.

Charlie and Matthew looked back at Bill questioningly. 'Who?' Charlie asked.

'Its' bloody Louise Baker!' hissed Bill.

'Two with one stone! Well done, Bill,' said Matthew.

'Right, how do we play this, then?' asked Charlie.

'You two keep an eye on them both, flank them either side. I'm going to get PC Davis from off the gate. When you see him approach, make your move, grab them, and a cuff them both.' And Matthew hobbled off, slightly annoyed his leg meant he could no longer join in the physical stuff.

While they were waiting, Bill said to Charlie, 'The Baker woman's mine.'

Charlie smirked. 'Just don't let her get away again.'

'No fear of that!' growled Bill.

Robert Chapman and Louise Baker finished placing their bets with the bookie and turned to leave. They were deep in conversation with each other and did not notice the two policemen shadowing them. The couple walked over to the first row of in the grandstand and sat down in pair of empty seats. Charlie and Bill stationed themselves behind and to either side of the pair.

In the grandstands behind them all, Lucien watched this play out with interest. The dogs no longer held his attention.

Handlers were walking the dogs out onto the track to the boxes for the next race and Baker was leaning forward in excitement to examine his choice. At that moment two things happened, PC Davis arrived and moved into position and Louise Baker turned around.

'ShhheerrriiieK!' shrilled Louise, startling both Chapman and the dog he was examining. He spun about to see what Louise was screeching about and saw Charlie and Davis moving forward. Jumping up, fists clenched he moved to meet the oncoming policemen. Charlie and Davis both had their billy clubs at the ready.

'Stop!' shouted Charlie, 'You are under arrest!'

Chapman surged forward and grappled with Davis, trying to thrust him out of the way so he could escape. The two men waltzed for a second or so, when 'THUMP', Charlie clocked him on the head with his truncheon, dazing the man. Before Chapman could regain his senses, Charlie had him immobilised and snapped the cuffs on behind his back.

Meanwhile, Bill had been having his own little dance party with Louise. She stood up to run, but Bill blocked her exit. She weaved left, then right, trying to escape around him. Then, recognising Bill from before, she over-confidently assumed she could best him again. Raising her hands, with her long fingernails extended like a cat, she advanced on Bill threateningly. Now, Bill had a healthy respect for those talons and dodged to the side out of her sweeping hands. Louise tried to dart past as Bill dodged, but he stepped back in and quickly and efficiently grabbed her by the arm, pulling it back into an arm lock, painfully forcing the arm up her back and nails out of harms way.

'OWWWW!' Louise cried, going weak at the knees. In her moment of distraction, Bill secured the other arm, cranked it around her back and handcuffed her securely.

Panting slightly, the three policemen had the two suspects in custody. From the seats in the stands behind them the heard someone clapping. Looking up they saw Lucien and several other bystanders giving appreciative notice of a competent and professional arrest. Matthew was standing off to one side with a contented smile on his face.

'You're nicked,' said Bill into Louise's ear.

…

It was a pleased and satisfied Matthew that reported in to Jean that night over dinner. Charlie and Lucien were at the table enjoying Matthews' 'report' to her.

'So, they both confessed?' Jean asked, eyes wide.

'Well,' grinned Matthew, 'eventually. We interviewed them separately, of course. But we let each know that the other was blaming Ben's death on the other and would be given lighter sentences for their help- they each tried to implicate the other. In the end we managed to sort out truth from fiction, and who did what.'

'Yes?' Jean waited. Matthew smugly dragged it out for effect. 'Matthew!' protested Jean.

'Robert Chapman killed Ben, he said it was an accident, didn't mean to hit him so hard. But who knows?' said Charlie who was enjoying the drama and teasing Jean as well.

'But why? Was it for the medals? How did he know they were there? What does Trash, I mean Louise, have to do with it all? And, oh, Matthew Lawson, if you don't tell me everything I will NEVER bake you another apple pie in your entire life!' scolded Jean.

Matthew held up his hands in surrender. 'All right! Full disclosure. Robert Chapman and his dad had a falling out sometime ago. And when Chapman Senior died, Robert thought he was due an inheritance. But his father had spent any money he ever had on his retirement – and on travels to New Zealand to visit other Diggers he was friends with during the war. All his Dad left him was a sack of trashy souvenirs.'

'And his war medals,' interjected Lucien.

'Yes, the war medals.' Agreed Matthew soberly. 'Maybe he wanted to leave his son something of importance, something that meant something to him. But whatever the reason, Robert wasn't impressed and thought they were just old trash like the rest of the items. And told his wife to get rid of the lot.'

'So how does Louise Baker come into it?' asked Jean curiously.

'Well, turns out that Louise Baker has a little gambling problem. She spends most of the money she earns at the Trots or the Dogs. She met Robert at the Dogs one meeting and they hit it off. They've been having an affair for a year or more.'

'Poor Ellie Chapman,' said Jean.

'Well, she'll be rid of him at last, at least,' said Lucien.

'Anyway,' continued Matthew, 'He's over at her place one night and he tells Louise his father's just died and about the lousy inheritance he gave him, and the medals, and how he got his wife to donate it all. She tells him he's an idiot, and they are worth money and her brother would pay well for them. They argue, she kicks him out. He goes home and yells at his wife, slaps her around a bit. The next day, Louise happens to spot Ben carrying the bag into the back room of the charity shop while she was in there taking advantage of a bit of the old five-finger discount.'

Jean shook her head in disbelief. 'And she tells Robert?'

'Yes. So, Robert decides to get the medals back. He goes around to the shop that Tuesday morning early, before it's opened, planning to break in before anyone is there. Pat sees his feet as he goes up the back stairs. Robert knocks first and to his surprise, Ben answers!'

'That must have been a shock. Poor Ben.' Said Jean.

'Now here is the strange thing. Ben had been going through the Chapman's donation and must have found the medals. He had been looking at the Military Medal and had it in his hand when he answered the door. Of course, Robert didn't know that then, Ben kept it hidden. But Ben lets Robert in, hears his story but refuses to hand over the medals. I gather he felt they should go to the RSL display, not be sold for cash.

'So, they should.' Said Lucien.

'Perhaps they still can,' replied Matthew, and then continued. 'Robert insists, Ben tells him to get out and turns away. Robert loses his temper, sees the Tiki statue, picks it up and hits Ben with it, killing him instantly. Looking around he upturns the donation bag, finds the other medals, then sees the one still in Ben's hand, he pulls it and the Bar tears off. He doesn't notice.'

'Then Mavis calls out to Ben, and he panics.' puts in Charlie.

'Oh dear!' Jean gasps.

'He says didn't see him, he came into the office to see who called out to Ben and found her there. He hit her once, knocking her down and out. Then he left out the back door.' Finished Charlie.

'The monster, I am glad Mavis cannot remember that,' said Jean. 'So, he sells the medals to Baker?'

'Well, no, Louise sells the medals,' replied Matthew. 'Robert Chapman isn't very bright, but he did work out that he shouldn't be connected to the sale. So, he asked Louise to sell them for him. Louise could pretend they were just something she 'found' during one of her Spotting mornings.'

'Did she know that he had killed Ben? That's just horrible.' Said Jean sadly.

'She says she didn't know at the time, and when she realised it she figured it was smarter to say nothing.' Replied Charlie. 'Though I reckon she didn't really care.'

'It still makes her an Accessory after the Fact and she is going down for a long time.' Said Matthew grimly.

'Did Baker know? Didn't he suspect anything?' Jean was curious.

'He might have suspected something, but I don't think we can get a conviction. However, we will be keeping a very close eye on the man in the future.' Said Matthew.

'And Ellie Chapman? What of her, why did she come into the shop. Did she know about the medals?'

'Apparently not.' Replied Matthew. 'She was just in such fear of her husband, she thought if she got the donation back he would be pleased. Poor woman.'

'But what I don't understand is why Robert and Louise stayed in Ballarat? Surely they knew they couldn't get away with it!' asked Jean. 'Why didn't they just run away together?'

'The plan was to leave, after today. She wanted to move up to Queensland. But seemingly Robert had a 'hot tip' for a dog today, 'Lucky Lucy'. They decided to stay and try to double their money.' Charlie told her.

'They were out of luck today in more than one way.' Commented Lucien. 'Bill told me that 'Lucky Lady' came last.

….

Epilogue

…...

Robert Chapman was sentenced to 30years to life, 30 years non-parole for Second Degree Murder.

Louise Baker was sentenced to 15-20 years, for shop-lifting, Resisting Arrest, Assault on a Police Officer, and Accessory after the Fact.

Caroline Jones was given a suspended sentence for Shop-lifting and Resisting Arrest.

The Federal Police investigated Baker. He was found to be selling and exporting medals on the international market. After months of investigation he was finally sentenced for Theft, Obtaining Property by Deception, False Accounting and Unlawfully Exporting Antiquities. 10 years.

Ellie Chapman divorced her husband while he was inside – uncontested - and began to volunteer every week at the Animal Charities Op-Shop.

Mavis fully recovered and resumed working and managing the Op-Shop. The notoriety of the murder and related shoplifting did not harm the shop, in fact, for several months it increased sales due to curious customers having a sticky-beak.

Pat O'Brien had his stay at the RSL hospital with a pretty nurse. One weekend Mavis took him down to the St. Kilda Sea-Baths on the sheep truck. He travelled in the back with the lambs and she sat in the front cab with the driver. Mavis brought along some strong 'sailors' sea-soap and some fresh clothing from the op-shop. After a good soak in the ocean and a vigorous scrub, Mavis took him to a local St. Kilda barber for a shave and haircut. Smelling much better and slightly of seaweed, Pat and Mavis took the train back to Ballarat that afternoon where he was admitted, undergoing the Cure, paid for by Mavis. Sadly, Pat's addiction to alcohol as well as his fragile mental state proved too difficult for him to overcome. After a prolonged bout of the DT's, and the threat of a weekly bath, on the fifth night he climbed out of the window and escaped. He soon succumbed to the drink, sinking lower and lower, drinking cheap sherry and metho. One night he passed out in the rain taking a chill. The combination of the cold, poor nutrition, health and hygiene lead to pneumonia. Years of alcoholism had also affected his liver. Young PC Davis found him in the following morning but Pat had lapsed into a coma, never woke and died two weeks after being admitted to hospital.

Mavis, Lucien and Jean petitioned the War Memorial in Canberra for replica medals to replace those that Pat had sold years previously. When they were received, they were given to the RSL where they were displayed together with Ben Parker's and James Chapman's medals. Comrades in Arms, mates always, in life and death.

Lest we forget.


End file.
